Day 2 'A Voice in the Darkness' blog tour: What Kind of Writer are You?

I'm thrilled that the hard copy of 'A Voice in the Darkness' is being released on the 29th July, a few days time! My sincerest thanks to my publisher Elsewhen Press, with a special mention to Alex Storer, who created a stunning cover.
I'm constantly asked about writing, and the amount of people I’ve met who said they’d love to write a book is staggering. One of their questions is always, ‘How do I start?’ It’s simple really, you just put pen to paper - or finger to keyboard. It’s interesting to note, however, that there are three kinds of writer; Plotter, Pantser, and Plantser.
The Plotter does exactly that, they plot out their tale from start to finish. Some use a series of cards, a notebook, MS Word or Excel. Anything basically that works for them. This doesn’t mean the storyline remains the same from when you start, it’s just that as you develop the tale you just amend the planned chapters accordingly.
Likewise, Pantsers write by the seat of their pants - Stephen King being one of them. They just sit down, look at the blank page and write. Plantser’s, however, are a mixture of both. They might plot out the basic outline and then write from there which, incidentally, is exactly what I do. Personally, I use Excel, and the good thing about that is that if you think of something you’d like to add you just insert a line into your spreadsheet and add the relevant information. I also use cards to keep records of my characters.
Each kind of writer might determine to write a specific number of words per day, forcing it where necessary. Others won’t force it at all and only write as and when they feel the need, or as ideas occur to them. Of course, there’s no right or wrong way, each to their own. As long as it works for you, that’s all that matters.
Blurb
When children on the colony of Semillion go missing they return changed, the parents even claim they are not their
offspring. Sherrif Andrews soon finds himself investigating the bizarre situation. What he discovers leads to him being recalled by the military and sent back to Earth, a place now quarantined and where colonial humans are forbidden to venture. The intention is to recruit ex-commando Seethan Bodell, who's living with the survivors of The Sundering and the mythological creatures that now inhabit the world.
Earth is still ruled with an iron fist by the alien Spooks, but there is something else going on behind the scenes, a new
and deadly threat. To succeed, Andrews and Bodell need to call on that grand tapestry of inhabitants: the shapeshifters, elves, the ravening pack of werewolves that Seethan now belongs to, and even the dead; in the hope that it will be enough to prevent an escalating situation that could so easily lead to war.
Excerpt:
Something about their lander caught Shipman’s eye. The ship’s skin seemed to blur for a moment. To shiver and shift. He shook his head and looked closer. Somehow the sides of the ship were swirling like water going down a drain.
“Sir, look at this.”
“What?”
“There are swarms of what look like ants on the ship’s hull. Must be thousands of them.”
They stepped back and watched the tiny creatures condense into a large lump on the side of the ship, that in turn, morphed into a pitch-black face that looked straight back at them. Ebony eyes swivelled back and forth between the two of them and then suddenly the face melted away, becoming a river of insects flowing down the side of their craft and into the ankle-deep grass. One moment there and then, just as quickly it - or they - were gone.
“Sir, what the actual fuck? Did you see that?”
“Yes. Nothing surprises me about this place, Shipman. There’s some really weird shit happening here these days. I guess it’s just the Spooks checking up on us.”

The sun was setting and gradually the night enveloped them. Andrews’ recognised the hoot of owls from the many worlds he’d visited over the years, but then a long, drawn-out howl interrupted them. Cries from various nights bird fell silent, and even the occasional rustle from the grasses and bushes stilled. That call came again, rising from a low groan to a higher Awooo before suddenly fading away. The forest lay hushed and even the stars above them seemed to hold their breath.
“What the hell was that?” Shipman asked, turning so that his back was to the craft, one hand moving to hover over his knife.
“A wolf.”
“Seriously? That’s like a big black dog with a bad attitude, right?”
“Not necessarily black but something like that.”
Backs against the open hatch the pair scanned the clearing around them, lit as it was by the full moon now glaring down at them like a giant eye. For a long while nothing moved, and then a ghostly white shape swooped low over the grassland, shot overhead, and then vanished back into the trees. Shipman jumped, as if something had grabbed him from behind.
Links:
Elsewhen Press: Mark Iles – Elsewhen Press
Amazon Kindle: https://amzn.eu/d/00OIgfj6
Amazon Hard Copy: https://amzn.eu/d/0iYlD7sS
Website: www.markiles.co.uk
X (formerly Twitter): @welcometoearth
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