Well, it only took me the better part of 30 years, but I finished writing a novel today. To be clear, I haven’t been writing for 30 years, but when I tell the story of The Book and the Blade, I always mention how I initially got the idea when I was 18.
For this story, I’ve had the idea since I was 8! Today, I finished it.
To give this a little context, I couldn’t even read when I was 8, but my grandad had died two years prior and like many young boys in similar circumstances, I idolised him in ways I didn’t fully understand.
My grandad; the dog walking, pipe smoking, ever present war hero… was gone.
But his stories live on.
No one is finally dead until the ripples they cause in the world fade away.
Sir Terry Pratchett – Reaper Man
I’m 42 years old now, I live in Australia, and I tell my grandad’s stories constantly. It was about time I wrote them down. I carry his name, you see, passed down to me through my dad, his son. My own daughter and son carry his name also, and the shared names go back even further than those four generations.
But back to the point of this post, I finally finished writing a novel about him. Sgt. Alexander Bedair Finlayson.
Maybe.
I first announced I’d done this on 22nd October 2023… that was the day I completed the first draft. On the 6th April 2024 (two days before writing this) I finished… again.
I think.
The tricky thing about writing a novel about your grandad, when you’re named after him, is you can’t very well use your own name as that of the main protagonist. This isn’t primary school. And to make it even more complicated, I have used grandad’s name in another of my novels. He was a twin. And in the upcoming The Sword and the Hounds, Alexander and Archibald play a key role. So, I sort of shot myself in the foot there.
But the reality is, for some strange reason I don’t quite know, Uncle Arch used to refer to himself as Mickie Finn. When he wrote letters to grandad during the war, he often signed them in this way. So my main character, the one based on grandad, became Michael ‘Micky’ Finn. His brother in the story is called John (another name that runs through the family)… and strangely enough, Alexander and Archibald make an appearance as well.
You might be thinking now… if you’re of a deductive mind… that these few details would indicate I am playing fast and loose with ‘historical fiction’, and you’d be absolutely spot on. This story isn’t historical fiction, not really, it’s historical fantasy, and there’s a very simple explanation…
I’m a coward.
The truth is, I don’t feel good enough to write a straight war story about my grandad. I don’t think I could ever do it justice. I know I can string a few word together and occasionally pop out some entertaining bits and bobs, but this is my grandad we’re talking about! A man who left home just after his 21st birthday in 1939 to enter basic training, and was then shipped out a year later from Liverpool to North Africa. He wouldn’t return home for four and a half years! He fought in North Africa, Italy, Greece, and ended up in the LRDG! How the hell am I supposed to write about that?!
So I didn’t. I spoke to my dad, and I spoke to my uncle, and I basically asked for their blessing to write grandad’s story in a way I know how… with fantasy and horror. And it was this that ultimately made me throw out the first draft… and then it saved the fifth.
I started by moulding the story around Grandad’s Letters (these documents are fully deserving of the capitalisation). They are two long accounts of grandad’s experiences in war that he typed up for Major Forty, who wrote a series of books on the exploits of the 8th Army and the 7th Armoured Division. We have those letters, along with a treasure trove of photographs taken through the North Africa Campaign and beyond. I organised everything as best as I could in chronological order and then I started playing with it.
But there were too many influences. When I first started, I didn’t know what I wanted it to be. I devoured A.R. Channel’s The Fighting Four war novels when I was a kid, then moved up to Robert Westall. After that were Stephen E Ambrose and Ben McIntyre. I’ve watched just about every war movie and TV show you can imagine, from the romanticised movies of the 60s and 70s to the more gritty and realistic showings of Spielberg, Hanks and co. and I’m one of those blokes who is more than happy to watch a documentary on a Friday night (yes, I am that cliched). And, my God, I researched! I researched more for this novel than I did for my Masters.
But still, that first draft didn’t know whether it was coming or going! Was it aimed at kids, teens, war historians, or horror fans? It was a total mess… and the ‘horror’ was shoe-horned in to try and make the narrative flow. It didn’t work.
In the second draft, I found the voice and tone I wanted.
In the third, I discovered the plot (three drafts to find a plot!)
In the fourth, I ‘killed my darlings’, as the saying goes (and I’m left with a whole file called ‘dumping ground’)
And in the fifth, I found my story. Grandad’s story.
The tentative working title is Shadows in the Sand, but that might change. Right now, I’m exhausted. I’ve spoken to dad. I’ve spoken to my best mate. I’ve spoken to my wife. I’ve come out from under the rock and I’m going to let it rest. What the story needs now is fresh eyes… someone who can see if it works like a story at all.
The beta reading of this one is going to be brutal! I’m not sure I’m ready to let it go.
Either way, I did it. And I’m really proud I did it. Who knows… it might work, it might not. But I’ll push on regardless.
Cheers,
