Authors Electric

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...

     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 ...

     "In the Ghost World, beyond Iron Wood, lay all that was Ghost Dance by Susan Price left of the Northlands; and in that timeless Northlands' forest there is a gyrfalcon. It has been a gyrfalcon so long, it has almost forgotten that it was once a mortal baby, and then a shaman's apprentice and a shaman, and a Czar's black angel.      And that is the end of this story (says the cat).      If you thought it tasty, then serve it to others.      If you thought it sour, sweeten it with your own telling.      But whether you liked it, or liked it not, let it make its own way back to me, riding on another's tongue." This is from the ending of Ghost Dance , the third book in my Ghost World Sequence. I've just finished turning it into a paperback, so now all three books are available as paperbacks again. I wrote these books a long time ago, and it's been a rather odd expe...

"Naughty, naughty, very naughty!" MWA HA HA HAAAAAAAA! But enough of The Shamen’s moving 90s ballad Ebeneezer Goode . Today I speak not of The Shamen but of shamans (which, Mr C., is the correct plural form), specifically those of the Ghost World sequence by Susan Price. If you haven’t read The Ghost Drum and its sequels, then shaman you. Go and do so! Okay? Right, you’d better get some sleep now and eat something and, I don’t know, maybe use the loo - the last thing I want to do is cause you discomfort. Assuming you’re suitably refreshed, welcome back. There’s something about the shamans of Susan Price that I find eerily familiar. Something about the way they see things that others don’t. The way their spirits can travel to many different worlds. The way they weave magic by using words, and can hold people spellbound with just a story. Also the way that shamans must be trained in their art, but also must be born to it – you need years of hard work t...

'Ghost Dance' by Susan Price.  Cover by Andrew Price           'Outside the circle, where the candlelight edged into darkness, two figures stood in talk, a man and a devil.            The man… (says the cat) was Master Richard Jenkins, an Englishman and a wizard.           The devil was a red and furry devil, its fur rippling in the candlelight like red velvet. Its tail had an arrow's point on the end, and was long, and coiled and bounced like a spring as the devil moved. Its head was fearsome, large and round with staring, glittering eyes and ram's horns; and all around its head and shoulders hung a shimmering red mist.           'Are you listening to me?' said Master Jenkins to the devil… 'Take off the head when I talk to you!'          The devil… wrenched...