Michael Wombat's Blog

Marian introduced me to sea wormwood that morning. I put a sprig in my belt, and every so often was greeted by a lovely sage and camomile smell that complemented perfectly the salt breeze from the cove. We sat on the shingle. Marian took my arm, pulled me close and laid her head against my shoulder.
“What are we to do?” she whispered. I sighed. I could see only one way ahead, and it hurt me to my core to even consider it.
“It pains me to say this,” I began, lifting a hand to stroke a wisp of hair away from her eye, “but if he will not see reas—”
“John! John!” The shout pierced the whisper of waves and set to flight screeching gulls and piping waders. Much thumped out of the nearby trees and slid to a halt, scattering fine pebbles over Marian’s boots. “He’s at it again!” he roared, his baritone bedizened with frustration. “We can’t stop him!”
“Fucksake,” Marian cursed. “I thought I told you to watch him, Much!”
“I’ve got to have a shit sometimes!” Much clenched his fists. His eyes dared her to argue with him.
Marian raised her hands apologetically, then leaned on my shoulder to push to her feet. “Come on, buggerlugs,” she said. “Let’s go see what our intrepid leader’s up to this time.”

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How'd ya fancy seeing 'DVD Extras' of my books? Early drafts, bonus material, deleted scenes, sketches, weird stuff? Go here to find out about this and other rewards for members of my special Wombie Club.
https://www.patreon.com/wombat37

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My Scrivener file for The Raven’s Wing is enormous. I’ve done so much research, spending a big gobbet of time making sure I get as many details right about 1322 as I can. One of the best things about research is...

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Hello, kids! Are you around Bradford on Saturday 23rd July? Why not pop into St. James Hall to say hello to me and loads of other cracking authors? There’ll be books and book-related swag galore.

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Recently I was asked to write to a class of five-year-old children. Here’s the story I included.

One day, Wee Wombat’s mummy took him for a walk outside their lovely dark, smelly burrow. After a delicious breakfast of grass, she kissed him on the head and pointed to the field that surrounded the dark hole that was their home.

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I was chatting the other day (on Twitter, not that that matters) about street games we used to play as children, back in the days when only one person on the street actually had a car (an Austin A30). No one but me had ever heard of one of my favourite games – Finger Thumber Dumber Little Granny.
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I've got a present for you - FREE for Kindle, four short Christmassy stories. Wombat's Christmas Baubles - Click here for the UK
and here for the US

I’ve had a lot of trouble over the last few days with the plot of The Raven’s Wing. I suppose it’s a symptom of my penchant for elaborate plotting structures (see ‘Fog’), but this stumbling block was a right thorny bastard. I shall explain, avoiding spoilers.

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I spent three or four hours today on The Raven’s Wing without writing a word. First there was the actual plotting... [Click to read more]

How have I only now discovered that Reader’s Favourite website gave Fog a 5-star review six months ago? Presumably, the notification went straight into my ‘Crapola’ spam folder. In truth, I had forgotten submitting it to them.

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