Erin is the werewolf Queen of Athol Castle. She has no memories of the events of a few months ago, where she believed herself to be a  psychologist, and met the enigmatic and charming Conner. Filtiarn has taken over Conner’s body once more, and is relishing being in control. Cruel and sensual, he decides to work on a plan...to take over humanity. He begins a war...of werewolves against humans. But unknown to him, Conner is fighting against him within his own body, to set things right, and to bring Erin back from her own darkness. He tries to undo a great mistake from long ago, using Erin’s famed sword, Sioctine, as remnants of his own memory come back to him, opening up the present he now lives in. 

At the same time, another enemy is using the situation to their advantage, following the werewolves at every turn, threatening to undo everything that Conner is struggling to obtain. But will he be able to bring Erin back from Filtiarn’s grasp, or is it too late? And will he be able to stop the war against the humans progressing?And who is threatening to take over not only the humans, but the werewolves as well?

Humour…is a difficult thing to write about. But I could start with a joke? Okay…um…let’s see…

A doctor, a lawyer, a little boy and a priest were out for a Sunday afternoon flight on a small private plane. Suddenly, the plane developed engine trouble.

In spite of the best efforts of the pilot, the plane started to go down. Finally, the pilot grabbed a parachute, yelled to the passengers that they had better jump, and bailed out.

Unfortunately, there were only three parachutes remaining.

The doctor grabbed one and said "I'm a doctor, I save lives, so I must live," and jumped out.

The lawyer then said, "I'm a lawyer and lawyers are the smartest people in the world. I deserve to live."

He also grabbed a parachute and jumped.

The priest looked at the little boy and said, "My son, I've lived a long and full life. You are young and have your whole life ahead of you. Take the last parachute and live in peace."

The little boy handed the parachute back to the priest and said, "Not to worry, Father. The 'smartest man in the world' just took off with my back pack."

Now I bet you got a giggle out of that, right? Or at least, I hope you did. And this can be one of the big differences with humour. Had I told that joke to you in person, I would have killed it, because I have no timing at all. None. I could have the biggest clock in the world and a band conductor, and I would still send that joke into its grave. BUT. I can write it. I know this only because I get told this, I’m not blowing my own trumpet.

I also like how humour can encompass many different types of humour. Mine revolves mainly around sarcasm, dark humour, and a lot of silly madness. Okay, okay, and some dirtiness in there too. It’s too tempting! I like to try and describe things around me in a silly way. For example, if I do a character interview, a lot of things normally happen that seem a bit mad. Like if it’s one my drool-worthy male characters, a lot of women tend to get stuck on the window and I have to peel them away. With a squeegee. 

 

Or I can be funny in person, but it depends on the conversation. I normally have to wait for what I call an ‘opening’. Which means someone else in the conversation has to say something that can have a funny response. But when I manage it, it does make people laugh. Which I like doing. There is nothing better than hearing people laugh, as it means everyone is happy-and what could be better than that? Well, maybe chocolate. Maybe.

Which is why it’s so great being able to write humour into my novels. But they’re paranormal fantasy books where lots of people show their fangs a lot and kill each other!, I hear you cry. Yes, but I said I liked dark humour. And because I’m in charge, I can set characters up so that they do say that perfect opening to allow the next character to get the laugh. They often fight over who gets to be the comedian for the chapter, but I get the whip out and they normally go quiet. Also a fact.

So I love humour, because I like to think I have a good sense of humour. I’m also half-Irish and from the North of England, and we love dark humour. Check out a series called ‘Boys From The Black Stuff’ to see what I mean. Plus a lot of it is set in the town where my family is from. I like incorporating humour into my novels because it gives them another layer, another section of storytelling. Just hope that you never meet me in person, otherwise you’ll lose all faith in my joke-telling capabilities.

I was born in Guisborough, North Yorkshire in 1987 and have lived in various places around Britain, including Newcastle and Glasgow. My writing is inspired by various writers, including the vivid characters of Charles Dickens, the imagination of Stephen King, and the gothic imagery of Anne Rice. My love of horror began at an early age, when I was only three or four. I could read proficiently at the age of three, and devoured fairy-stories, but I always had a bent towards the darker stories, such as the Brother's Grimm's tales...Red Riding Hood was always a firm favourite, although I always felt sorry for the wolf, despite him having tried to eat everyone! I also had an incredibly vivid imagination, leading me to believe that the noises that the radiator in my room made, were in fact the noises of monsters hiding behind it. This led to me having terrible nightmares, in which I believed I woke up and would see them sat in my room, doing nothing more extraordinary than playing cards or reading a book.

As I got older, my love of tales about unknown creatures persisted, always wanting to devour tales about ghosts or other beings. Being born in Guisborough was also a coincidence, as it is a town rich in folklore and ghosts in various places, such as the Black Monk of Guisborough Priory...whether or not any of these stories were true, I still don't know, but I love the tingle of imagining whether or not they might be.

As I began school, I began to read more books, and became enraptured with the tales of ancient Greece and Rome, loving the explanations for simple things around us turned into figures and gods. To this day, I still have an avid love of ancient customs, and I have especially fallen in love with Celtic symbolism and myths, winding them into my novels whenever possible.

As I got older, about ten or eleven, I had moved, to a small village, with only about 80 children or so. I quickly became the main story-teller of my friends, my favourite one being a story about a girl who buys a porcelain doll, only to hate it after a few days and lock it away in her family's garage. The doll of course, is haunted, and breaks back into the house, calling, 'I'm coming, I'm coming...!' until she reaches the little girl, who is hiding under her cover, where she whispers, 'I'm here, I'm here...!' The poor mother of course comes into her daughter's room in the morning and finds her daughter dead, with the doll sat on top of her. I have a vague memory of telling a wide-eyed group of peers one morning, and one of them running off crying...I think I got told off for telling stories that were too scary at school.

At the age of seven or so, I was given two books by a relative; one of them was a large collection of Lewis Carroll, and to this day my favourite poem is 'Phantasmorgoria'. The other book was a collection of weird tales, all involving fair maids and witches, devils and wicked spirits in some form or another, a lot of them derived from eastern story-telling, where children and evil witches constantly collide-usually with awful consequences. This persisted with a series of magazines and music called 'The Magical Music Box'.

At this point I began to really get into more horror books, watching all and any horrors on television, even ones that were far too cheesy to watch without laughing. Point Horror stories became a favourite on my shelf as I went into my teens, alongside my classic favourites such as Dorian Grey and Great Expectations (still my favourite book to this day). I got hooked onto Anne Rice novels as well, loving the combination of a typically monstrous creature who had redeeming qualities akin to human ones. The most terrifying book that ever made an impression on me has to be The Exorcist. The film is nothing compared to the book-I don't believe I slept the night after finishing it, waking up at every noise in my room, imagining it to be a voice or whispered giggle.