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Showing posts with label Dark Lord. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dark Lord. Show all posts

Friday, 20 January 2023

One sing-song to rule them all

Nothing punctures the dignity of a Dark Lord faster than banishing him to the world of mortals in the body of a 12-year-old kid. That's what happened to Dirk Lloyd, as fans of Jamie's hilarious books will know. And now, as part of his relentless struggle to claim back his powers, Dirk is appearing in a stage musical -- for a limited run to begin with, but Broadway beckons.

The show is written and produced by Kevin Murphy, creator of Reefer Madness and Heathers: The Musical and one of the lead writers on Desperate Housewives. He knows his diminuendo from his demisemiquavers. You can book tickets for the London premiere here.

Equally exciting, issue 8 of the superb Casket of Fays is out today. And by the generosity of the seelie folks at Red Ruin Publishing it's free. What are you waiting for?

Wednesday, 22 February 2017

Four of the best


I'm so used to queuing these blog posts up months in advance -- "we'll have a gamebook piece followed by a scenario followed by game design theory..." -- that it's easy to overlook actual news when it happens. Luckily I was reminded by Andy Fletcher recently that the long-awaited new edition of the Dirk Lloyd books has finally arrived. Not only do the books boast new covers by dapper Dan Boultwood, illustrator of the DL strip in The Phoenix, but the original trilogy has now been joined by a fourth title, The Headmaster of Doom.

There's a story behind it, you'll be glad to hear. Jamie and I originally came up with the idea for a new book series called Grimmer Grammar, in which an ordinary boy called Arthur Tooms ends up at a creepy school for the undead. He has to pretend to be a zombie to fit in. The school has houses such as Charnel House, Slaughter House, Mad House, and so on, the kids sleep in "doomitories", and there are characters like Zom Brown, Lucretia Bitely, and Stitches the caretaker.

As you can see, we were aiming for comedy squarely along the lines of Dark Lord because that's what the publishers all seemed to expect, and in the end they turned out to want it in spades (rusty, mould-spotted, gravedigger spades) because they decided not to launch it as a new series but squeeze and pummel it until it fitted into a Dirk Lloyd shaped hole. And that's how come The Headmaster of Doom. All the laughs you would have got with Grimmer Grammar, and with all your favourite characters from the Dark Lord series too. Happiest days of your life (or death), so they say...

Wednesday, 12 October 2016

Dark Lord - the board game



A big shout-out to Manvinder Singh Dev, creator of the Dark Lord board game! Jamie and I would love to play this.


Monday, 1 December 2014

I'm dreaming of a dark Christmas...

The first Dirk Lloyd book has finally (YES!) been released in a French edition. Now our friends over la Manche can read Un Démon au Collège and tell us how well the humour translates from Anglo-Saxon into Gallic.

I was interested to read the first review on Amazon.fr, which signed off as follows:
"Seul regret: j'aurais préféré un récit à la 1ère personne"
Why that's interesting is that, after having hatched the idea for the Dark Lord series, Jamie and I spent quite a while trying to decide on the best way to tell it.

The first thing we'd written was that catchphrase, "I will tell you all my secrets. But then I'll have to kill you." And that wasn't even necessarily intended to go into the book; it was just a mnemonic for us to remember this one among the many ideas we were coming up with that day.

Having begun with a first person viewpoint, we began feeling around for a voice. I tried two versions of the opening. First narrated by Dirk:

I have found this device and will use it to record what the mortals of this world call my blog.

Blog. I like the word. It has a brutal sound. When I return to my realm, I will have a thousand slaves flayed and on their skins, in the violet blood of the last of the ice dragons, I shall inscribe my Great Blog. My Blog of Final Conquest.

When I get home.

I have been trying to remember what happened. I was falling, falling. But before that. This brain – like the warm, pink, pudgy fingers I must write with – is unequal to the task of containing my dark soul. I must struggle with it and subjugate it. If I am ever to find my way back, I must rise above the petty limitations that have been set upon me. I must make myself remember.

Gargon had unleashed the catapults. Their taut cords made the ground shake as the skies darkened with roiling, smoke-trailing, spark-splashing balls of blue fire. I watched the faces of the White Riders, too close-packed to turn their horses before the barrage rained upon them. Under the steel visors, those grim-set mouths went slack. They knew that death was flying to consume them.

Ah, such a glorious day.

It was all going so well. I see the battlefield as in a mist, a blood-red mist. We were beating them back. Those impudent fools who had marched to the very heart of my kingdom, there in the shadow of Mount Dread, in the wan light cast by the dark moon of sorrows, they saw the powers at my command and their hearts were icy with fear.

But then I caught sight of that meddling wizard, Hasdraban the Pure. Across a sea of battling troops our eyes locked. I began the incantation of the ninth demise. He held something – a crystal. It shone with power. I had spoken the sixth of the nine syllables that would crack his old veins and spill his blood like dust upon the wind.

Hasdraban said one word. The crystal blazed with light. And I was falling… 

This sequence actually did make it in modified form into the finished work, but it wasn't right. In a way, telling the story from Dirk's point of view was over-egging the pudding. Also, it made it very hard to get the distance required for comedy. A technique that works brilliantly in The Diary of a Nobody is less effective when the reader doesn't have any way of knowing if the narrator is unreliable, crazy, or a genuine dark lord.

So then I had another stab at it, this time using Dirk's foster brother Christopher as the narrator. I think the idea now was probably to have several different first-person narrators giving us their take on Dirk's story:

"I will tell you all my secrets. But then of course I'm going to have to kill you...”

Those were the first words that Dirk had said to me personally in the whole time he’d been under our roof. It’s not like I hadn’t wanted to make friends, but after being ignored all day I think he could’ve opened with something more chatty, like, “Do you know the cheat codes for Halo 3?” or “What’s with that dork who’s lead singer in Travis?” Threatening to kill someone, even in fun, is a bit weird when you’ve never even spoken to them before.

I stared at the bar of street-light on the ceiling. Dirk was a black silhouette in the spare bed on the other side of the room. I decided it’d only make me look soft if I asked him what secrets he was talking about. Looking soft is a bit of a specialty of mine, to be honest. But I’m working on it.

“Whatever,” I said.

The alarm clock beside the bed ticked out a minute in the darkness. I couldn’t even hear Dirk breathing. There, I thought, that’s told you.

“I am trying to decide,” he said at last, “whether you have passed out, overwhelmed by mind-numbing terror of what I might tell you, or whether mere subservience has struck you dumb.”

“Eh?”

“I am waiting.”

“You what?”

I saw him rise on his elbow, eyes boring through the darkness of the bedroom at me. Outlined by his shadow, he looked bigger, although I knew that if anything he was shorter than me and kind of on the skinny side. No reason for me to feel intimidated, especially not in my own home, in my own bedroom. But there you go. It’s like I said. Soft.

“You were about to say something,” Dirk went on. “You got as far as the first word and then you stopped.”

“I said whatever. As in: whatever. Now why don’t we get some sleep. It’s all right for you, but I’ve got school tomorrow.”

“Whatever what?” I caught just a flash of a smile in the darkness. It was a trick of the light, of course, but his teeth looked sharp as needles.

“Whatever. That’s all. Nothing else. Just – whatever.”

Dirk lay back with a chuckle. He seemed to be talking to himself. “Just whatever. No more than that. Whatever! I like it.” He turned to me again. “I thought you only had the makings of a lickspittle – “

“Now steady on!” I didn’t know what a lickspittle was, but it certainly didn’t sound like a compliment. In fact it sounded like you might have to lick spit, which was verging on an outright insult. I would have got up and thumped him right then, if I hadn’t been a little bit afraid of him.

Now, don’t think that’s me being soft again. I may be easy for other people to push around, but I don’t flinch from getting into a scrap, even if the other bloke is bigger. I’m not a coward. The thing is, small as he was, almost everybody was a little bit afraid of Dirk.

You’ll see. Later, you’ll see.

“I thought you had the makings of a lickspittle,” he repeated, “but now I see you have spirit. Stripped of the stultifying blanket of civilization – “ and here he kicked back his duvet for emphasis – “I think you could be rude, opinionated and badly behaved. I like that.”

“Er, thank you. I think.”

“You will be my henchman in this benighted world, Christopher.”

“Call me Chris, mate, everybody d- “

“I shall call you Christopher,” he announced, turning over to go to sleep. “And you shall call me – “

“Dirk?”

“Master.”

If you've read the Dark Lord books, you'll know we didn't  go with either of these styles. And you probably don't need to have read the books to see that neither approach above was bringing out the comedy inherent in the concept. Well, that's okay. When you're developing an idea you try things on for size. Different viewpoints, different voices, past or present tense.

Luckily Jamie then took the plunge (that's a pun if you've read the first line) and wrote the opening chapter, dropping us in medias res and using the close third person viewpoint often described as free indirect. After that there was no debate. It was obviously the best and funniest way to handle the series, and Jamie got the writing gig - which incidentally skewed the book younger than I was envisaging, and just as well too. It wouldn't have won the Roald Dahl Funny Prize (yeah, sorry, but that is what they call it) as a darkly dry-humoured novel for teenagers - although, ironically, a little of the early-stage concept of it as a book for older middle-graders survived in the series's UK title, Dark Lord: The Teenage Years.

By jumping right out of the YA bracket, Jamie found a simple, fun style that appeals to kids and adults, and thus a series that can be read by mums and dads to their children. Which makes the Dark Lord books - and all of Jamie's fiction, come to that - pretty handy if you're stuck for a Christmas present. Mwo ho ho.




Thursday, 2 October 2014

The Wrong Side of the Galaxy


I still call him Gazza Greene, because that's what he was called in the early drafts, but now publishers feel it's safe to have another Harry as hero of a bestselling kids' series. So here comes Harry Greene, Starship Captain, kidnapped by aliens on his birthday, and then those aliens get attacked by another lot of (much nastier) aliens, and Harry ends up on the far side of the galaxy - in fact, a little way out beyond the Small Magellanic Cloud, which is really way too far from home when your tea's getting cold.

Alone but for a super-devious Cugelian alien, two cloned royal princesses who finish each other's sentences, and a senile ship's computer, Harry has to try to get home while dodging super-nasty aliens who are after the Galactical Imperial Crown Jewels. Before the first book is over, Harry will have acquired at least two arch-enemies and he'll have become a mum. (You'll have to read the book. Trust me, it all makes sense.)


This is proper SF, this, and not just another fantasy story masquerading as sci-fi. There are no mysterious prophecies, no magic monsters that can't see you if you hold your nose, no dangers that can be dealt with by believing in sugar plums, no hand-waving bamboozling ways out of a predicament. It's for kids, not idiots. It's by Jamie (of course) and I have to say that it's not just a side-splitting comedy that's the funniest thing since Douglas Adams, it's also a rollercoaster SF page-turner with some really wonderful alien worlds and creatures to enjoy along the way.

The Wrong Side of the Galaxy, the first in the Starship Captain trilogy, is out now in UK paperback. (Oh, I just realized we should have called the character Gordon Greene. Then we could have had, "Gordon's alive!" Darn. Talk about l'esprit de l'escalier...)

Thursday, 3 April 2014

Toothless

Today is the official publication date (in the UK, anyway) for the third of Jamie Thomson's Dirk Lloyd books, Eternal Detention. If you haven't discovered this series yet, you're missing out on a genuine laugh-out-loud fantasy treat. An evil Sauron-like lord of darkness is banished to our world in the body of a thirteen-year-old kid. When he says "I'm the Dark Lord," the Brummie policeman who found him thinks he's saying his name is Dirk Lloyd. He gets stuck with a foster family, complete with saintly foster brother Christopher, and - well, try the books for yourself. This series really is the best thing Jamie has ever done.

Working for a publisher involves lots of compromises. They have their demographic in mind, and it's enough of a coup simply to get such a typically "boyish" novel accepted for 9-12 year olds in the first place. So Jamie has had to give ground on some things. The title of the third book, for example, was meant to be The Dirkest Hour, but there was some problem with that.

Occasionally, whole chunks of the text have to go. Jamie takes this much better than I would - but then, if I'd written the Dirk books they'd be targeted at the Young Adult market and would sell about a tenth as well as Jamie's do, if that. A case in point: when we were developing the series originally, I came up with an idea for a rather creepy, surreal episode that would show that, even though his mightiest powers had been stripped away in our universe, Dirk still had a little magic. Jamie wrote this chapter, but it was one of the bits that ended on the cutting room floor as the publishers excised our darker concepts. A shame, in a way. I liked it. But getting rid of stuff like this made the series massively more accessible to a wide readership, so I can see the publishers were right. Anyway, judge for yourself:


Christopher’s Journal: The Strange Case of Nicholas Van Reysen

Van Reysen is a right knob of a bully, a couple of years older than me. His dad was also a doctor, and apparently my dad and his dad had had some kind of spat over something, so Van Reysen decided he’d pick on me. I called him Nick the Thick – but not to his face, of course!
One day Mum dropped me off a hundred yards or so from school. She really wanted to drop me off at the gates, but I had to beg her not to time and time again, until she finally gave in. It was just too embarrassing to be seen with her. My mum, a vicar! She always had the vicar’s collar thing on as well, so it wasn’t as if you could pretend she wasn’t one. And she always gave me a sloppy kiss, telling me to be ‘a good little boy, for your mummy’. It was just really, really uncool, not to mention yucky - I had enough trouble with my rep already and Mum wasn’t going to do me any good. So I always made her drop me off away from the gates, so no-one at school would see her. Anyway, that day I happened to be carrying Dirk’s Lordi shoulder bag for him with his books and stuff, as he had an early morning dentist’s appointment and was going to be a bit late. Dirk loved that bag – the Bag of Dread Gargon, Hewer of Limbs, he called it. Lol!
As I was walking up to the gates, Nick the Thick came up behind me and clipped me around the back of my head, saying stuff like ‘Dirk’s little bitch, that’s what you are, Purejoie!’ and ‘Carrying his bag – are you his girlfriend then?’ or ‘Chris is gay for Dirk!’ and generally tormenting me like the mindless twat he was. There were some other kids of his year with him and they were all laughing at me as well. I guess Van Reysen thought he was showing off or something.
Then Van Reysen grabbed at Dirk’s bag. I wouldn’t let go, so he shoved me over. I fell over in a heap, and he dropped the bag on my head with another nasty comment. It really hurt and I scraped my hands on the pavement as well. What was worse was that one of his mates filmed the whole thing on his mobile. It got passed around the school, making me look like even more of an idiot. They walked off, leaving me on the ground, red-faced, and holding back tears. I felt hurt, and scared. Ashamed. And I really hated Nick the THICK. I hated him. Why did he have to treat me like that? What had I ever done to him, or his mates?
I looked around, kind of hoping Mum had seen what was going on, but she’d already driven off. Then he’d have been caught bullying, rather than having me dob him in for bullying. That was the problem. I could report him, but then I’d get the snitch moniker, and my life would be hell at school, worse than Van Reysen made it even. Chris the Sneak, Chris the Grass, Chris who had to tell on people because he couldn’t deal with them himself. Which I couldn’t, of course. Van Reysen was fourteen and big for his age.
Anyway, I picked myself up and walked on. Later, at lunch, I found Dirk, Sooz, Sal Malik, my mate Pete ‘Nutters’ Nutley, and a couple of other ‘courtiers’ as Dirk called them, sitting around talking about what it would be like if you could have an orcish football team, cricketing elvish bowlers or dwarven batsmen and such like. Sooz noticed I was looking a bit upset, so I told them what happened.
Nutters said he’d heard about it, and been waiting for me to turn up, as he had it on his mobile phone. Van Reysen and his twat mates had already uploaded it up on the net, and he’d been able to download it. He showed it to everyone. When Dirk saw it, he scowled angrily, his face looking like black thunder. It was amazing how he could actually look a bit like a real Dark Lord sometimes, even though he was only 11. I heard him mutter a few words under his breath – I think it was something like, ‘Nobody treats my friends like that.’ Then he looked at me as if he was embarrassed to admit I was a friend, and said loudly in his best Dark Lord voice, for the benefit of everyone else, ‘Disrespecting my staff is tantamount to disrespecting me and that cannot go unpunished. This Van Reysen shall suffer the wrath of Dirk!’ The Wrath of Dirk - that made everyone laugh, including me, which really helped lighten my mood. Dirk was great for that sort of thing.
Anyway, I didn’t think much of it, until I saw Dirk going up to Van Reysen that afternoon, during break. Van Reysen was sipping a can of some soft drink, with ear phones in; listening to whatever dumbass music a dumbass like him would listen to on his iPod. Dirk snatched the phones out – Van Reysen turned around, looking angry, as if he was about to lay one on him, but Dirk just leant forward and whispered something in his ear. Van Reysen looked shocked, and he actually went really, really pale. He even sort of weirdly cringed away from Dirk. Then he got really angry and stood up, glaring and swearing. Dirk just looked him full in the face, and slowly turned round and walked away, oozing contempt. Did Van Reysen go after him, cuff him over the head, kick him in the arse, or shove him to the ground, or whatever? No, he sort of hesitated, as if he was thinking about it, but then amazingly he just looked around sheepishly, sat down sort of embarrassed like, and stuck the ear phones back in, as if he was trying to block out the world. It was extraordinary! Dirk was just a chubby little 11yr old kid, and Nick the Thick was virtually fully grown.
The next day, at lunch, when we were all hanging around at the ‘Court in Exile’, Dirk announced that ‘His wrath would soon be visited upon that worthless cur, Nicholas Van Reysen, for I have laid my curse upon him!’
We all chuckled, and didn’t think much more of it, but a few days later, something happened at a cricket match that made me think twice. It was an older boy’s match, though Dirk was still doing the scoring, (he was better at scoring than anyone else in the whole school) as well as giving advice from the side lines.
Nicholas Van Reysen was playing, and today he was fielding out by the boundary. But his mind seemed elsewhere, and he wasn’t really paying attention. He was looking over in Dirk’s direction, lost in some kind of reverie when the batsman hit a real humdinger of a ball, up in the air, and straight at him. It was as if time had stopped - everyone froze, watching expectantly, assuming Van Reysen would try and catch it, and they all wanted to see whether he’d make it or not. But it rapidly became clear that the lights were on but no one was at home. Van Reysen hadn’t even noticed. Then everyone started shouting, as the ball was coming down straight at him! Van Reysen turned around then, but it was too late, and the ball smacked him slap bang in the chops.
There was a nasty cracking sound, and Van Reysen fell to his knees wailing in pain, with blood spilling out of his gob. Now, as you might have gathered, I really didn’t have much time for Nick the Thick. In fact, I hated the guy. But I had to wince – I even felt sorry for him. Sure, he was a dumbass bully, but man, that had to hurt!
The sports teacher ran over as fast as he could, yelling for the first aid box, and an ambulance was called. It looked bad, but in fact it turned out later that it wasn’t as bad as we thought. He’d had his two front teeth knocked out, but no bones were broken, and he wasn’t going to die or anything (more’s the pity). Sure, it must have hurt like hell, but he’d get his teeth replaced eventually. I have to admit I didn’t feel too sorry for him. After all, from my point of view, he’d just got what was coming to him.
Later on, the ‘Court in Exile’ were sitting around talking. Dirk claimed the whole thing was the result of his curse and that he’d made the whole thing happen, using his magical powers. And that he’d done it to protect me. Most of us laughed it off as another one of Dirk’s crazy jokes, but Sooz, and even Sal looked a bit uncomfortable – as if they actually believed it, or at least weren’t entirely certain. Of course it wasn’t true (surely not!?) but I also felt a little bit miffed about the whole thing. It made we look a bit useless in front of everybody, as if I needed protecting because I wasn’t strong enough to deal with things on my own.
‘I don’t need protecting Dirk. I can fight my own battles, you know,’ I’d said, rather aggressively, as I was feeling a bit defensive about it all.
‘Oh really,’ Dirk had replied, ‘I didn’t realize you knew that ancient spell, first drawn up by the Vampire Lords of Sunless Keep, known as the Curse of the Extracted Fangs!’
‘Well, Van Reysen certainly had his fangs extracted!’ Sooz had quipped, and that had set us all off laughing again, and I soon forgot what it was that had irritated me. I put it all down to general ‘Dirkness’ but then things took a strange turn.
As it turned out, Van Reysen was back at school a couple of days later, walking around the playground during break, trying to frighten people by glaring madly, and grinning hideously with his gap-toothed gob. He gave me a particular hideous grin, as if he wanted me to know he was back, and as mean as ever. But then Dirk showed up which made Van Reysen suddenly rather uncomfortable. Dirk had some tin box in his hand, painted black and covered in weird red symbols. He shook it in front of Van Reysen’s face, and it rattled noisily – as if, well, as if it had a couple of teeth inside.
‘Give me your lunch money, and promise to leave Christopher alone from now on and you can have your teeth back, as good as new,’ said Dirk.
Jeez, I thought – Dirk’s asking for it now! In fact, we’ll both probably get it in the neck. Van Reysen’ll go ballistic, surely. But no, he didn’t. He just sort of gulped nervously and went pale, just like the last time when Dirk had whispered in his ear. He looked back and forth at us, like a rat in a trap, and then, incredibly, he reached into his pocket, took out a tenner and handed it to Dirk, saying in a cracked, scared croak, ‘Here, take it all – and I promise I’ll never bother Christopher again.’
Dirk just looked at the ten pound note. He didn’t take it. ‘In the tin,’ he said.
Van Reysen gawped at him, then he twigged. He folded the note and slipped it into the slot on top of the tin. Then he looked at me apologetically, nodded and then hurried away, as if he couldn’t get away from us fast enough. The whole thing felt really, really weird, and actually, rather creepily scary. Dirk gave me a look of maniacal triumph, put his hands together in front of his chest, and then gave one of his best Evil Overlord laughs.
‘Mwah, hah, hah!’ rang out over the playground, and that familiar sound set me off as well, so we ended up sniggering our way back to class. But that wasn’t the end of it. The very next day, Van Reysen turned up at school – and his teeth were back! As if they’d never even been knocked out at all. I assumed he’d just had a lot of dentistry work done, but I still had some niggling doubts. So I plucked up my courage, and went over to him at break.
I simply asked him, straight up, ‘How did you get your teeth back, Nick?’
He just gave me a worried look and said, almost under his breath, as if he was afraid to be seen talking to me, ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ With that, he walked off. I never spoke to him again. How weird is that? Could it all be real somehow?

Thursday, 4 October 2012

The Dark Lord arrives in America

To coincide with the release of Dark Lord: The Early Years in US hardcover this week, Jamie has an exclusive interview with the International Reading Association; "My name is Dirk, but you may call me Master."

The interview gives you a taste of the side-splitting humour that won Jamie a shortlist nomination for the 2012 Roald Dahl Prize. Not only that, it's full of brilliant creative insights like this one:
'[Dark Lord] is a classic fish out of water/odd couple plot, but it also parodies its genre, albeit in a loving way. It lampoons fantasy, but it is also a cracking fantasy tale in itself, though I do say it myself. It's also interesting that this book probably couldn't have been written thirty years ago. Its time is now because everyone knows what a Dark Lord is, the imagery, the “trope” is everywhere.'
...though the truth is you can't study to acquire authorial talent like Jamie's, you have to be born with it. Curse him.

You can buy Book One in hardcover from the Amazon.com link below, and UK readers can still get it in paperback, as well as the sequel A Fiend in Need. I know, I know, you want him to write more Fabled Lands books - but really, take a look at the Dirk Lloyd series as they are genuine modern children's classics that I believe will be read and enjoyed by kids and grown-ups for generations to come.

Wednesday, 3 October 2012

How to take over the world


We interrupt our programme of super-creepy bodiless head-creatures from nightmare, folktale and fantasy gaming to bring you the trailer for Dark Lord: The Early Years, which goes on release (I nearly wrote "on the rampage") in the USA this week. It's not a gamebook, but it is Jamie's masterwork, and the best recommendation I can give it is to say that I have not met a single person who, having read it, hasn't thought it's one of the most brilliant novels ever. And that includes the Roald Dahl prize judges, presumably.