The Ninth Circle – themes

Back in the days of my first books, I often wrote with a specific theme in mind or at least an idea of what I wanted to say with that book. A pretty terrible idea especially for a new writer without much of a clue what they were doing. It’s half the reason those books were so very awful and will never see the light of day. It wasn’t until I decided to just roll with an idea and a character (maybe six books in) that things began to fall into place. These days, I more often than not need a rough outline to go with the idea and character. I love the idea of literally making it up as I go, but I’m not one of those writers, sadly. I get lost and bogged down in sideplots that go nowhere. The resulting book is never any good, so I tend to use my outline as a loose map to keep things moving. And I don’t give a toss about themes.

That’s probably an odd thing to say for a post with this title, but it’s true. Themes are for writers who think they have something to say about the human condition. I’m just here to see how much shit I can put my characters through and then see who’s left standing by the end. That isn’t to say that themes don’t emerge or came to their own dark life. Most of the time, I don’t notice them until the rewrites and fresh drafts so they’re usually a surprise. With The Ninth Circle, I set out to see what would happen to a young couple caught in the middle of the apocalypse along with the supernatural. As I’ve mentioned, I wanted the small scale of a village setting rather than city backdrop because I wanted to really get into the finer details of the situation and have a snapshot of what might be happening on a global scale. The themes came in their own way.

Grief over losing a parent; attempting to reconnect with a childhood and a past because of that grief; a very British mentality unique to village life; survival and nothing but; who we are at the end versus who we believe we are.

Who we want to be.

I lost my dad about five years ago and while my reaction was different to Sam’s in the book, I suppose I could have gone in the same direction of wanting to reconnect to a past when he was still here. Thankfully for me, I didn’t, but that possibility is what the supernatural forces in the book utilise. Or exploit. Ditto Sam and the rest of the survivors with their human need to keep everyone alive and not leave anyone behind. Something else for the bad guys to exploit. I think that’s the key point of this book and the main reason I write this kind of thing. When we’re faced with the worst, we’re often at our best. Sam and the others are desperate to stay alive but they’re also desperate to do their best because there’s nothing left if they fail. The world might be gone. All they have left is each other. They lose that, they lose themselves.

That’s the key theme of The Ninth Circle and the key to more or less everything I write. Not a theme I ever give much thought and certainly not one I debated before writing a single word of the book. But it’s there on the page. In the panic. In the fear.

In the burning down.

books2read.com/u/mKALky

The Ninth Circle – out now

Here it is, people. My new horror is now available in ebook and paperback. As I think I’ve said, I’m very happy with one. I had a blast writing it which I hope comes across in the finished book. Feel free to buy a copy at your local Amazon. This is the UK link but it’s available everywhere:

books2read.com/u/mKALky

If you’re not up for buying it, any sharing of stuff I post about it on social media will be a huge help. Much appreciated.

Be good. Talk soon.

Luke

The Ninth Circle – where it came from (and an excerpt)

My plan was to blog about The Ninth Circle and where it came from before now, but I’ve recently been hit with Covid for the third time so that’s completely floored me (and I’m pretty sure writing this will do the same as soon as I finish) and put me way behind schedule in terms of promo. Not a great start when you have a new book out.

Anyway. A fair number of my ideas are actually a couple of ideas that have seemingly nothing in common but then come together to form a whole. In this case, it was imagining a couple on holiday somewhere when something huge happens back home. I had no clue where they were, who they were or what the huge was, but I liked the merging of putting people in an unknown location while their home is. . .something.

I’ve also always loved getting to the finer details of a situation – especially if we’re talking a big situation. Years ago, an agent rejected one of my books because he felt it was too small scale. I’d written about two women trying to survive the aftermath of the apocalypse; one looking for her daughter, and the other attempting to avoid a constant and mostly unseen threat. Things came to a head as they do and both women were forced to face some ugly truths. That was exactly the story I wanted to tell, so when the agent said it was small scale, I thought something along the lines of no shit and wrote another book.

Same thing with Ninth Circle. When I put my initial ideas of a couple on holiday alongside a threat to their home, it changed slightly to a couple having a day out in the man’s childhood village when a nuclear strike hits Britain. The village isn’t a target but it is close enough to airforce bases to feel the blast. And then it transpires there’s something in the flames and smoke. Something that likes to burn.

I knew I wanted a fast-paced action type horror. I’ve written them before and have a lot of fun with them. They’re my equivalent of a film you’d watch on a Friday night with a few beers. Something over the top, violent, scary and entertaining – mainly because it’s not a reality you have to live. So The Ninth Circle gets going almost right from the start. It’s a kind of jump on board the train situation. The driver doesn’t know where it’s going; the track’s melting; the world is on fire and there are things chasing the train, so you better jump on board right now.

THE NINTH CIRCLE
Sam passed through the church doors, treading on the soft earth, shoes sinking slightly. It was only after looking straight down that he realised narrow channels running red flowed below the crosses, each tiny stream carrying the blood of all the bodies out to the far end of this place. He stepped over the streams, mud sucking at his feet. Silent lightning flashed high overhead; an instant of white against the sky where huge patches of gloom answered the lightning in a movement that was deliberate and horribly alive. Steam and mist rose from the ground and the streams, bringing the stink of decay and spoiled meat along with the salty tang of the blood flowing from the crucified bodies. Through the earth, the mud and the splits and holes, the living gloom swam, entwining, parting, flowing into one before darting into separate forms. It was almost like a dance under his feet as he crossed the Plains, as he inhaled the smell of the bodies and the hot wind blew against his face. The world outside this place was another man’s dream. All he had was this land encased by the walls of the church and the horizon where something gigantic grew from ground to sky. A swirling form comprised of the red light brightening his surroundings. Sam tried to focus on it and to name the shape. His eyes wouldn’t rest on it and the thing beyond the light shifted every time he blinked. Its form changed with each passing second and took the memory of what it had been. He had time to think of it in a recognisable way before the naming was meaningless and he was left with the dancing light and what might have been a living flame at the centre of the Plains of the Crucified.

And still no thoughts in his void of a mind as he passed the endless circles of the dead on their crosses. All he had were his few working senses allowing him to witness this place that had stolen St Michael’s and stolen a tiny fraction of his childhood to mock him with this. . .with this. . .

This obscenity.

A hand landed on his shoulder.

Rachel stared at him. A skeletal Rachel with her rotting body exposed to this place. Rachel bent over by the weight of the cross she was nailed to except for the hand she’d placed on his shoulder to bleed on him and dig the nail that jutted through her palm into his arm. Even with the agony, he couldn’t close his eyes. He saw what the capering red beyond the crosses had done to her.

Nothing good here, Sam. This is all the way inside us. This is where we all belong.

She smiled. It split her face in two. Her eyes, bleached white, rolled back into her head, and the lines cut deep into her face widened to become pits.

This is where we come from and where we’re going. Welcome home.

https://books2read.com/The-Ninth-Circle

Pre-orders of either the ebook or the paperback would be a massive help, so if the sneak peek above gets you going, there’s more fun to be had via the link. Or even simply sharing any promo you see from me will help. Thankee sai.

Talk soon when I’m hopefully back to 100%.