An Interview With Author C.G. Ayling!

Where are you from?

I was born in a landlocked little country in central southern Africa called Rhodesia. It drew the world’s outraged gaze way back when – but that is another story entirely. I’m proud of my heritage and though I’m of European descent, I’m African in my core.

What inspired you to write your first book?

The desire to honor my Godfather, whose name I use as my pseudonym, and to trick my mother into not finding something more serious to worry about than my non-existent health problems.

Do you have a specific writing style?

I think I do. It’s called “third person omniscient point of view”, however I prefer to think of it as Omni-impotent. You see, every time I change character, I pop the reader into the head of that specific character – where they only experience the world from that character’s perspective. This means things the character misunderstands, are what the reader experiences.

How did you come up with the title?

Hmmm. The full title of the first novel in the series is “Malmaxa I – Beltamar’s War”. In Malmaxa, literally everything has meaning in the context of the tale. Every character’s name serves a purpose, every sentence, more than first appears. If it’s in the book, it’s in there for a reason. It’s the same with the name of the series, which is a combination of several words. “Mal” has two connotations, the first of which relates to epileptic seizures, of which there are two varieties, Grand, and Petite. “Mal” is also a root language form of the word insane and can also mean wrong, or bad. “Max” is a commonly used contraction for maximum. Putting the three together gives a hint of the nature of the series.

Are experiences based on someone you know, or events in your own life?

Of course I drew on my personal experiences, and many of the characters are loosely based on family members. Jalgar, the male protagonist, is very closely based on my memory of my Godfather. The parts of Jalgar that are good, are him, the parts that are bad, are me.

What books have influenced your life most?

Dr. Seuss. Not even a question… they were the foundation of my love of lyrical literature. Without that basis, I’d probably have turned out normal and well adjusted – with their influence, I just turned out normal…

What book are you reading now?

I’m going through the Temeraire series, by Naomi Novik. I really enjoy the thought processes of the Dragon protagonist, which ranges from philosophical to simple.

Are there any new authors that have grasped your interest?

February Grace, she is absolutely outstanding. So good, she made me read all the way through a romance! In fact, I wrote a review about it – the first one I’ve ever done. If you’re interested you can read it here:- http://cgayling.com/malmaxa/2013/02/godspeed-by-febraury-grace/

What are your current projects?

I’m working on an apocalyptic thriller – very different to Malmaxa, and intended to appeal to a wider audience. I’m also re-editing “The Pilgrimage”, the second book in Malmaxa, while working on the third novel, namely “Vengeance Cost”.

If you had to do it all over again, would you change anything in your latest book?

Not in the storyline of Malmaxa, I’m very pleased with it. However, I’m a chronic nitpicker and being self-published, I can indulge my habit of tweaking words to try and make them just right. Naturally, they never are.

Do you recall how your interest in writing originated?

Why yes, from the root of all things – love. Well, actually probably just a boyish crush on my high school English Literature teacher.

Is there anything you find particularly challenging in your writing?

Editing, editing, and more editing.

Who is your favorite author and what is it that really strikes you about their work?

Omar Khayyám – I particularly enjoy the translations of Edward Fitzgerald but I’m always willing to try other adaptations. Not only was Omar Khayyám a genius of rare caliber, he was also a poet of powerful philosophy. One of the wonderful thing about poetry, is that you get to interpret it each time you read it – which means it reads differently according to your mood, great poetry never gets old.

Do you have to travel much concerning your books?

Unfortunately, I get to travel all the time, and though it’s for my “day job”, not for my writing, the disruption often wrecks the creative process. I never go anywhere without a voice recorder, which I use to record ideas. Strangely, while traveling, I don’t so much create as ruminate – I mentally edit more than I write while driving.

Who designed the covers?

Me! Not only did I design the covers, I also created all the artwork except for two of the symbols, which I amalgamated from public domain tattoo images. Like everything in Malmaxa, the covers were very important to me. I wanted them to not only illustrate the world, but hold deeper hints of it. The cover of “Malmaxa I – Beltamar’s War” depicts a Seizen clad in culture appropriate garb. It also reveals the marks of family adorning her body, effectively “etched within her flesh”. It shows Daniskira, who is a Symbologist, which is the class of Seizen who actually apply the ritual tattoos. 

 The absolutely gorgeous cover model is my favorite middle daughter, Dannielle – there are pictures of her, in early iterations on my website. An interesting tidbit of information is that not only is Dannielle the cover model, but her personality is also the root of my inspiration for the character she portrays, namely Daniskira. I mentioned earlier that every little detail holds significance, the covers hint at what I mean. The cover of the second novel, The Pilgrimage, depicts the character Selene, shortly before her sixth marking.

What was the hardest part of writing your book?

Writing is easy. Editing, not so. Consider my nature as a compulsive nitpicker, a trait I think I inherited from my mother, who proofread for me, and you’ll grasp how painful editing is. I shouldn’t be proud of this, but I’ve rewritten literally every sentence in the series at least three times. Many of them much more than that… and I’m still not satisfied.

Did you learn anything from writing your book and what was it?

That I wasn’t cut out to be an editor? I also learnt to hold voice actors in high esteem. A friend who doesn’t have time to read Malmaxa, but commutes for two hours each day, casually said, “Why don’t you just record it? Then I can listen to it in the car.” I tried, even going so far as to publish the audio for the very first section of the first chapter of the first novel on my website. I don’t think I’ll be doing that again – not only is it incredibly difficult to record four minutes of audio in a single breath, but every sentence is torn from your heart it’s even more difficult!

Do you have any advice for other writers?

Though I probably shouldn’t, I do. Write from your heart, not from your mind. Remember, you’ll be the very first person to read every word you write, if you don’t love it then it’s unlikely anyone else ever will.

Do you have anything specific that you want to say to your readers?

Be more tolerant than you are today, tomorrow. Oh, and visit my website http://cgayling.com or follow @CGAyling on Twitter– no promises, but my words might touch you.

If you could pick a super power, what would you choose?

I already have – invisibility. My writing reveals who I am today – who I’ll become tomorrow might be the result of my audience’s response to my words. I don’t want anyone to look at my face, and judge me on my looks – but I’m only too happy to be judged for my words.

Wow! What an excellent interview. Thank you C.G. Ayling for participating in my writing challenge and for the interview. It was a pleasure working with you. -K.N. Lee

Writing Challenge with C.G. Ayling!

I'd like to introduce my first guest, C.G. Ayling! He was gracious enough to step up to my fantastical writing challenge, and the short story you are about to read, is quite remarkable! Enjoy, everyone, and check in soon for his interesting interview.

The Challenge:

Your writing challenge is to write a short story, less than 2000 words about a large stone door that appeared in your backyard one night!

The Result:

A Doorway, of Stone - by C.G.Ayling

I can’t recall why I looked out the kitchen window, just that I did.  A single glance, or was it a wind’s whisper which cost me my mortal life…?  I really can’t recall.

That story began, or perhaps I should say ended, with a puzzled frown as the full moon’s brilliant light drew my bored eye.  Fast moving, irregular shapes flitted across the backyard, the shadows of clouds driven before a brisk, murmuring wind.  A startled, wide-eyed blink as my eyes watched a shadow’s shifting form sprint across the lawn toward me.  I stepped backwards so fast a splash of coke spilled from the can I’d just popped open.

Coke… the memory’s name conjured a gush of saliva.

I digress.

Yes, they’re coming back now – memories long forgotten, tearing aside the cobwebs of a thousand deaths...

After my initial fright, bravado goaded me to venture outside.  Was I still a child – that imagination could transform simple lunar shadows into monsters?  Was I a fool, that I thought a full moon’s shadows could be anything else?  How little I knew.

Hours of solitude, hunched over a computer, had left me thirsty, blurry eyed, and cramped.  I could use a walk in the fresh air – nothing like stepping outdoors in a gated community to prove your bravery.

Moon, do your damnedest – I won’t be cowed by your conjured shadows!

A breath and a gulp of coke, followed by another gush of saliva at coke’s remembered taste.

Putting the can down, I stepped outside to look up at the biggest moon I’d ever seen.  It was enormous, with light so bright it seemed blue.  As anticipated hundreds of small, irregularly shaped clouds drifted toward me across a starlit sky.  For a minute I gazed upward, barely breathing as my jaded eyes took in a sight more splendid than any computer graphic.  As a particularly dense shadow approached, I lowered my eyes to the empty yard and watched it take life and charge toward me.

I smiled, then froze.  In its wake, a new shadow formed, even-sided and square – yet there was nothing there!  Frantic eyes leapt to the moon – no clouds between her and me.  Reluctant eyes dropped, anticipating another trick of lunar light.

No such luck.

An even sided, oblong shadow lay hunkered on the lawn.  Simple words, for a simple phenomenon – somehow rendered frightening by my subconscious.  Shaking my head and blinking my eyes did nothing – it remained stationary, and so solid that for an instant I managed to convince myself it must be a freshly dug hole.  During the last condominium association meeting there had been talk of a new swimming pool – but why would they place it on my lawn, behind my unit, instead of in the central, shared community area?

Face flushing in embarrassment at my overzealous imagination, I muttered, “Too many videos… jumping at shadows.”  My words leant me false courage.  With a snort of bravado, I stepped onto the lawn and strode toward the shape.  It became more menacing with my approach – each step slower than the last, as my mind struggled to explain the inexplicable.  A furtive glance at the moon revealed a sky now ominously clear of clouds.

About ten paces away, unwilling legs refusing to carry me closer, I stopped.  A mistake – the rapid thudding of my heartbeat couldn’t be dismissed as echoes of my footsteps on the soft lawn.  Squinting, I leant forward and peered into the shadow, “It’s got to be a hole for the new swimming pool… idiot contractors probably thought this was the central area.”

A firm nod leant me conviction I lacked.  Murmuring, “Get a grip…”  I took single step forward and stopped – once more unable to move.  I glared into the darkness, wondering how I could have been so stupid as to not bring a flashlight with me.  As I contemplated my foolishness, I noticed a minute movement on the ground – almost imperceptibly, the darkness moved toward me.  It had to be a shadow, but a shadow cast by what?  My eye traced a straight line from the moving edge up to the moon, which rode through the heavens with majestic ease.

A few hesitant steps carried me to the very edge of the impenetrable black.  With the toe of my left shoe less than an inch from it, I glared down – pursed lips and narrowed eyes daring it to touch me.  A few seconds gliding motion, and it did.  Though my flesh crawled, I refused to jump back.

I watched, and felt the darkness creep over my foot.

A cold, tangible thing that served to convince me I dreamt – when were shadows truly frigid?  Granted comforting courage by this thought, I stepped into the shade and heard the crunching of frozen grass beneath my shoes.  My legs protested as bitter cold swept over them in perfect synchronization with the shadow.  It felt like stepping into a river in the middle of winter – unbearably cold, even in a dream.

Shivering – no, shaking from the bitter ice, I stepped backward out of the darkness before glancing down at my shoes, which I expected to find coated with ice.  As the shadow’s cold clasp released me, warm blood flooded my frozen feet, tingling as if surging into limbs numb for long immobility.

“Weird dream…”

Determined to make the most of the strangeness, I turned right, fixed my eyes straight ahead, and took six brisk steps – parallel to the shadows perfect edge.  The last two strides took me beyond the darkness.  After taking a deep breath through my nose, I turned to face the shadow and gasped as my jaw dropped.  Only a small portion of the darkness remained visible – a sliver seen past a massive wall of stone, towering high.  After blinking twice, and finding the wall still towering over me, I shook my head, turned, and backtracked six paces – the precise number of steps I had taken me to escape the shadow.

This time I turned slowly, eyes narrowing as I once again looked at nothing – from this side, the shadow had no source.  More than that, there was no indication anything stood at the darkness edge – the bright moonlight let me see lawn beyond its boundary.  No shimmer, no distortion – I’d have sworn on my grave there was simply nothing there.

A poor choice of words…

I retraced my six paces, slowly, head turned to the side to catch first sign of the towering wall.  As I began the fifth pace, I froze – each eye considering two separate and irreconcilable images.  My right beheld the solid stone, climbing high.  My left – emptiness, and lawn. 

I titled my head left.

At some point, the stones forming the wall simply vanished.  No line, no edge, no depth – simply there… then not.

Slowly, I tilted my head toward the right.  Where was nothingness, now was stone, perceived first with my right eye while my left denied, then jointly – both eyes tricked by this illusion.

Reaching forth a hand, to confirm the impossibility of solid stone that was not, I hesitated… then drew my hand back and instead took the two remaining steps to halt in the exact spot where this strange dream had already climaxed.  Head shaking in mute denial, I turned at last – to stare again at solid stone.

It seemed so real…

Beneath the moon’s bright light, I noted the perfect fit of each stone to those above, beneath, and to each side.  Nowhere was mortar, yet also no gaps to my narrowed gaze.  Eyes scanning the solid seeming surface, I took several long paces to reach the midpoint of the wall.  It was as wide as it stood tall – perhaps wider.  Still two paces away, I stopped and turned to face it square.

I gaped in mute silence, heart beating fast.  Eyes fully accustomed to the moon’s light, I stared for a long while, the absolute still broken only by the ragged, irregular thumping of my heart.  My narrowed eyes noticed a huge doorway set into the wall’s middle.

How did I recognize it as a doorway?  There was no handle, and no hinge, neither frame, nor recess.  Yet somehow, I knew – within this wall, stood a door.  The only purpose for the monstrous wall was holding this massive door.

Reconciled to the dream, I reached out, anticipating a bitter bite of cold.  My fingertips barely touched the wall before I snatched them back.  The texture felt gritty, as stone should, but warm – as though baked beneath a hot, noonday sun.  Sheepish, I reached out and placed the palm of my right hand flat on the part of the wall I knew to be a doorway.  It felt solid, utterly immovable beneath my hand.  Exhaling abruptly through my nose, in semblance of a derisory snort, I pressed.

Nothing happened.

The doorway remained sealed, immovable beneath my puny, tentative pressure, “It’s just a dream…”  I leant into the stone, placed my left palm alongside my right, set my feet into the lawn, and heaved against wall – certain I could not possibly move the enormous door.  A few seconds of effort, and I relaxed, secure in the knowledge it would not budge.

Goaded by feelings of dream-induced inadequacy, I shifted a pace to the left and pressed again, this time with only my left hand upon the door’s left edge.  The stone doorway swung open – soundless and smooth, on hinges unseen.  Naturally, the instant I felt movement beneath my hand, I snatched it away, ready to flee before the nightmare taking shape.

Beyond the doorway lay only darkness, as deep as the pit I had earlier imagined.  The stone door continued its smooth soundless passage, vanishing soundlessly behind the wall.  It disappeared before I thought to note its thickness.  With that question foremost in my mind, I leaned forward, taking care not to lean into the gap left by the door’s absence.  Here, the stone had depth – closer to two feet than one.

Only in a dream could I hope to move such a massive weight…

Reassured by this thought, I stepped into the doorway, reaching out a hand hesitant in anticipation of the darkness’s biting cold.  Discerning no discomfort my fingertips pressed on, into the shade.  Emboldened, I let first my hand, then my forearm slide further in.

Without warning, a steely hand grabbed my wrist and jerked me bodily forward.  Overbalanced, I stumbled, an unborn scream leaping up my fear-clenched throat.  The sight of my mirror image jerking me inside the stone room startled me into silence.

Even as I staggered in, I stepped out, face grim.  My voice came from the other me, “Eternity enough, for me.  Better me, than I…”

Mind numb with shock, completely overbalanced by the unrelenting wrench on my wrist, I lurched past myself in ungainly effort to keep my feel.  The iron grip on my wrist released, letting me fall face forward onto firm packed sand.  Behind me came a whoosh, followed by a dull thud as shadow enveloped me.  Though there was no need to turn and look, I couldn’t stop myself – the bright moonlight had vanished, leaving only dim darkness in its wake.

Rolling onto my back, I sat up, peered toward where the stone doorway stood, pinched my arm, and murmured, “Time to wake up…”

From somewhere behind me a low moan raised my hackles.  In the instant it took me to leap to my feet and turn toward the sound, goose flesh covered my entire body.

This, was no dream.

<<<-0->>>

Author’s note.  My thanks to K.N.Lee, for challenging me to experiment with something outside my norm.  Would you like to see where this particular tale might lead?  I hope you’ve enjoyed it, and are tempted to taste other of my work.  Message me on Twitter @CGAyling, or visit my website http://cgayling.com to find out more.