The Militiverse

  Good evening my darlings. Can you believe we have wandered to the end of 2025? When one says it like that, it seems surreal. Here we are, another year closing and a new one about to remove its coat and hat, and smile upon us. Tonight let’s raise a glass of champagne and toast to a new chapter.   On the Eve of Becoming Something Else I’ve been away from the Scriptorium for the past week and a half. I know, I am wicked, I should be there with a manuscript open, a gorgeous but dominant vampire keeps telling me to get on with the edits, for his grand entrance. Fear not my gallant officer, you will go to the ball! I always find the eve of the New year, is a magical time. One awaits almost with bated breath, the anticipation of what is a new beginning. I always find the eve of the New Year magical, the kind of night that makes the butterflies flutter as one wonders what the year will hold.. 2026 will see the publication of the final four arcs of the European Tempus...

  Good evening my lovelies, welcome to the Scriptorium . At this time of year, I expect snow. While we wait, let’s warm ourselves with something sweet, perhaps a chocolate, lovingly made by one of the illustrators. Christmas time is a reflective time isn’t it? On the socials I have reminisced about Christmas past. This time though, I find myself about to close the door on the scriptorium for the year and take a walk down memory lane of what I have written, what I have read and most importantly, what I have learned. So, let’s get comfy and have a chat. Not everything survived, but the right things did I have been invested in the Tempus Militibus for ever. I outlined the series about fifteen years ago, and began writing the first books. Sticking rigidly to the outline and as the characters made themselves known, their quirks made me smile, laugh and cry with a certain frustration. As I mentioned I was meticulous with the outline, the plots and the characters. Plans and maps ...

  Good evening my lovelies, come in, let me take your coat, how about a nice glass of sherry or a cup of something inspirational? I hope your day was warm, charming and full of cheer. I have been in the scriptorium since early morning; pens scattered across notebooks and Jo Stafford singing all about the haunted heart . Have you ever taken time out of your busy schedule, just look around at your surroundings and wonder about some of the things that you see, maybe your office has a pencil sharpener that is masquerading as a lighthouse? A coffee cup that suddenly houses pens, pencils, or a ruler. Come closer, let me tell you about the light that glows in the window of the scriptorium….   A Glow in the Scriptorium This time last year the scriptorium had its walls scrubbed down, wallpaper removed and new paint carefully painted onto the wall. Then the bookshelves, my pride and joy, to house the many, many tomes that make up the library of the Militiverse , yes, the pla...

  Good evening my dearest ones, isn’t it biting outside? Well, do come in, take off your coat and warm your hands by the fire. There’s coffee or a little hot toddy if you fancy it. Don’t mind Lady Cora , she has been mischievous all day. You know tonight I want to talk to you about research . Yes, the bane of every writer’s life but a necessary part. I was having a wee chat with two writer friends, one was a playwright , and the other was a military history buff . Both very dedicated to their craft. The subject of research came up, and each of them had definite opinions on it. My friend, Sara , said that though needed, research was a black hole that a writer could get lost in, and she’d prefer just two sources. Her husband Neil , who loves history and particularly military history from World War 1 and 2, agreed that though it was gruelling, he found it stimulating. Both turned to me and with an assumption that because I write a combination of crime and gothic fantasy with a ...

  Good evening my lovelies, I’ve been resting up, listening to the rain outside as it bashed against the window like an angry ghoul. Though there is something quite lovely about a storm raging outside the house and the rain falling against the glass. It always makes me think back to my childhood, and when it rained, you’d need more than an umbrella. Anyway, my dear friends, pull up a chair and let me tell you about this evening and how I almost broke my neck, and Lady Cora’s nonchalance at my misfortune. Storm lit pilgrimage to the high shelves As I mentioned earlier, it has been raining nonstop all night and all day. The electric breaker on the fuse box, wouldn’t behave, the gremlins were playing their mischievous games. I couldn’t continue writing, there was only a bar left on the laptop, and I couldn’t charge it, so reluctantly I decided to close it. I took a throw from the back of the sofa and sat by the fire and read, yes by candlelight. But the flickering flame just...

  Good evening, my lovelies. Come in, come in. The French Roast is warm, the night is soft, and I promise I’ve hidden the worst of the day under the rug. Sit. Let the quiet settle around us like a velvet cloak. A message came to me recently from a dear soul named Gwen, asking: “What is the camaraderie like among the Tempus Militibus ?” Well. Pull your chair closer to the fire because we are not alone tonight. Mention Midleton whisky once and suddenly Remy , Emile , and Karl materialise like polished ghosts, trying (and failing) to look casual by the sideboard.  They  do  love a dramatic entrance. When Immortals Slow Down The Militibus are not merely vampires, they are the memory of old crossroads and forgotten cathedrals, the echo of history when no one is listening. They’ve lived too long for theatrics alone. Eternity forces reflection. One mild May night in Montmartre , Remy, Emile, and Karl escaped duty and found themselves basking in that rare th...

  Good evening, my lovelies. Come in, ohh close the door and shut the wind out. The fire is warm and there’s whiskey to spare. Rare Midleton , of course. The Militibus have developed a taste for it even though they claim it helps them think , though I suspect they simply admire Irish craftsmanship when they see it. It’s Halloween again, yes, it is the old Samhain . A time when the veil between our world and the Otherworld thins like morning mist, and time becomes unreliable . The puca are stirring in their hedgerows, full of autumn mischief. Tonight, we’re talking lore, the kind I grew up with. Ireland wasn’t just built on myth and legend. It breathes them. So, settle in. Pour yourself a glass. Let’s have a little chat. The Sluagh Across Ireland and Scotland, the Sluagh are known as the Host of the Unforgiven: souls who travel in dark flocks, seeking the lonely and the dying. Unlike the Tuatha Dé Danann , they who are beautiful, terrible, and bright. Bu...