Being immersed in my storyline, around the next crag steeply shale slithering paths I write precariously to the valley below ever onwards. To see your story become words as all unfurl from visions in a never-ending creative self is such a magical creative time warp primarily, existing in the author’s mind only. I confess to almost drowning in ideas sometimes but each one is a seed to be fertilized within a storyline at some point. Crach Ffinnant was born from an idea, who was he, and what about his life? History tells me little except Crach was a dwarf and a prophet and seer to Prince Owain Glyndwr in Wales circa 1350 -1415. A blank parchment to be written like an artist with a new canvas and so the Crach Ffinnant series was born winning first prize in a writing competition with wordsmatterpublishing.com
Since 2018 Crach Ffinnant – The Prophecy was followed by volume two Crach Ffinnant – Rise of the Dragon, volume three Crach Ffinnant – Ravens and Dragons, and volume four Crach Ffinnant – Justice Prevails awaits release, and now the final volume five, Crach Ffinnant – Stronghold of Illusion os under the quill. My final volume is intended to be a blockbuster ending to the series and the fun I feel whilst writing is impossible to describe. Of course, as in all long stories some characters are no longer with us, erased by my rubber and killed off and despatched to history. Here is a short extract from volume five, Crach Ffinnant – Stronghold of Illusion.
As quickly as the storm broke it ended abruptly, and suddenly the sun broke through sweeping clouds warming the earth. I was soaked and needed to change my clothes, so I dismounted and pulled a dry blouse and breeches from the saddle bag changing where I stood. Wolf and Cwtch just shook their bodies drying themselves naturally in the sunshine. Cwtch, head down nibbled at short sweet grass. Wolf, snout to the ground feverishly sniffed here and there, before disappearing and bolting after an unsuspecting prey. Within a few moments, the huge carnivore returned with a freshly killed rabbit between his jaws and dropped it at my feet, stepped back, sat down, and stared up with big golden eyes looking at me expectantly.
‘Time for some food is it my friend?’ I asked rhetorically, his bushy tail wagged.
Lazarus Carpenter - Author 