Authors Electric

    Last month, I wrote about how I finished the rewrites for Ghost Drum, back in 1986, on an Amstrad word-processor, and how it's now being re-published, after nearly forty years, as a Faber Classic. I was chuffed enough about that. Happy days, I thought. A few days ago, my Faber editor got in touch to say that, in that month, their entire initial print-run of 2000 had sold, and they were re-printing. Well, I'll go to the foot of our stairs. Both Hatchards and Waterstones, I'm told, have asked for 'minor tweaks' to the cover -- and that's the new version above, duly tweaked. It has a darker, more dramatic background than originally. 'Sales', I'm told, have also asked for changes to the cover -- which hardly ever happens in subsequent print runs, says my editor, and so is a clear sign that Sales have confidence in, well, sales. The new cover is to have-- wait for it-- Embossing! And-- wait some more-- 'spot UV.' I had no idea at all what ...

The fourth book in the Ghost World Sequence Artwork: copyright Andrew Price. All life is sorrowful - but very, very sweet. [The wolf-witch ] said, “You have see n wolves hunt deer. The racing shapes against the snow, darting, turning— for the watcher, so beautiful. And it’s so good to run and feel your own strength! But for wolves, the hunt is hunger. For the deer, it is terror, and death. The hunt ends in pain and blood, with the wolves choking the deer and eating it while it still lives— Oh, did you not think of that? But now you know, and will never forget. Do you think wolves cruel now? But wolves must live, and have cubs to feed— and wolves cannot use arrows, or spears, or traps. To be happy in the den with their cubs, wolves must kill.             “Listen to the wolves sing when the hunting and feeding are done. So beautiful, their song, it will freeze you; and so sad it will pain you. The wolves know w...

"I don’t think those dogs ever mistook me for their master. They were good herd-dogs and I think they knew exactly what I was — a little calf, lost from the herd. A lost little pup wandering loose. They knew that what they had to do was take me in charge, and herd me along, and watch over me, until they had brought me somewhere safe." It’s a long way home — from East to West across Scotland’s mountains and lochs.           Sandy’s mother is desperate for money. So she ‘bonds’ ten-year-old Sandy to a wealthy farmer until he’s twenty-one.           Sandy is miserable — bullied, ill-fed and beaten. He runs home, and is heart-broken when his mother makes him return, to another beating.           So Sandy runs away, though he fears he will be caught and hung for breaking his bond. Alone, on the road, he longs for a safe, lovin...

The Runaway Chapatti, by Susan Price, Illustrated by Adam Price Here it is at last! After much discussion, arguing, editing, proofing, arguing - well, this is a PriceClan production - alterations, rewriting, arguing - the chapati is on the run again. It's been out of print for a while, but the wonders of indie-publishing make it possible for me to bring it back. There has been a bit of delay in getting the book on sale. It's a collaboration between me and my brother Adam, the illustrator. For the sake of convenience, it was published from Adam's CreateSpace account - and that caused the problem. To their credit rather than otherwise, Amazon almost immediately 'suppressed' the book (their term) while they checked whether either or both of us had the necessary rights. We both emailed them, quoting our membership numbers and explaining - and although I've heard nothing from Amazon, I see that the book is again available. It's an early-reader boo...

     Ambrosi...saw the shape of a great and beautiful tree, winter-bare of leaves. It rose out of the empty dark with the pale, pale sheen of steel by moonlight, faintly outlined against the blackness and the stars.      The stars shone through its branches, like brilliant, unseasonable fruit... Other sounds, distant and eerie, crept to his ears. The stars, every one of the thousands of stars, as it spun in darkness, spun its own crystalline, icy, piercing note that... wove and interwove with the note of every other star. Cold, thrilling, calling harmony: poignant discord: the music of the spheres.           This is an extract from my book, Ghost Song. The World Tree         It's said that one of the questions most often asked of writers is, 'Where do you get your ideas from?' Well, I know exactly where this description of Yggdrasil, the World Tree, comes from. When I was ...