Legend of the Hallsands Survivor

This might be our first Thanksgiving without any family around. My youngest and his partner, who we love dearly, are both working adults now and may not be able to wrangle the time off to join us. Disappointing, but that's life—not that we don't have a lot to be thankful for! Escrow on our Pacifica home is on-track to close in a few days, opening us to the exciting adventure of finding a new house here in Eureka. My wife and I can't wait!

I'm delighted to share that integration of direct sales into my author website is D-O-N-E done! It was a ton of work, but I'm very happy with the results. All of my self-published books have a new button in the "digital" section (which is also new) sporting my logo. Clicking it shows a purchase page that displays the current price and explains the checkout and delivery process, which are Stripe and BookFunnel, respectively.

The entire flow is automated, seamless, and nearly instantaneous. By the time the purchaser opens their email client, their download links and receipt should be waiting. Other small features added in this release are: dedicated purchase links for paperback and hardcover editions (if they exist), to make format options clearer; as well as a "Read a sample" option that takes the user directly to an online sample of the book.

So, now that work on the site is done, I'm back to Timeless Keeper Book 3. It's at 49,000 words of a projected 120,000. Lots of foundation setting, world building, and character growth so far. I'm hesitant to pull the big plot trigger because, once I do, the fireworks aren't going to stop. I will, though. Soon. =]

This month's feature talks about the magical, real-world place of Hallsands Hotel that inspired the inn of Penance in Enigma. It holds a special place in my heart and many others, and is the core reason I was able to bring Penance to life and make it Britta's home, too. Enjoy!

In this newsletter

• Hallsands Hotel — The Real Penance
• Book Sales and Events
• Currently Reading

Hallsands Hotel

The Real Penance

Imagine driving through narrow English country roads, where high hedges often brush both sides of the car at once, obscuring the peaceful countryside from view. You turn a corner like any other, and the road ends at a sometimes sandy, sometimes pebbled beach bordering the English Channel.

But that isn't what catches your breath. To your right towers a beautiful, quaint hotel high up on a cliff. Curious, you find a parking spot in the full lot, wondering in these primitive days when maps were folded paper stuffed in a glove box how everyone else found their way here, or if they're lost like you.

The sign out front bellows "Hallsands Hotel" in bold, red letters. Your legs burn after huffing up the three billion steps to the entrance, swept by the salty moist breeze, where you pause. A heady mixture of alcohol, bar snacks, ancient wood, and flagstone assault your nose. Two locals look up from their game of pool, the table set as level as it can be on the uneven stone floor in the middle of the small lobby. A draft carries from the right the delicious scents of fresh toast, eggs, and English bacon.

A deep, boisterous voice hollers from a window behind the pool table, "Welcome, my boy!" (or "my dear!") "What can I get you? Checking in, or just come for a pint?"

Whether you came for a pint or not, you soon find yourself sitting at the cozy bar around back, a frothy glass before you that the cheery proprietor may or may not charge you for, because he's soon drinking with you, regaling you with tales about the nearby Hallsands Village that fell into the sea so long ago, or the beautiful walk to the lighthouse at Start Point that overlooks the English Channel, or his endeavors to reinforce the cliff so the hotel doesn't suffer the village's fate and tumble into the ocean.

"This hotel?" you ask with right concern.

So the proprietor, David Light, walks you fifteen steps outside to a flimsy plastic fence next to the outdoor bathrooms. On the other side of the fence is nothing. You look down into the nothing and there—stomach-turningly far below, beneath tons of poured concrete clinging to the rock—are roaring waves eating the cliffs nibble by inexorable nibble.

"Careful when using the loo, then, right?" He laughs—a rich, joyous sound to match his rosy cheeks. It fills the entire courtyard and echoes in every corner of the hotel. You're helpless but to join, even as you picture yourself tumbling into the Channel after one too many pints poured by the selfsame man.

Despite every survival instinct screaming to the contrary, you check in. The only available room is on the third floor—there are only three—and, if it's all right, there is no en-suite bathroom because the few they have are already booked. By whom, you wonder? The place seems mostly empty. So you carry your bag up the curved banister stairs because, of course, Hallsands has no elevator nor porter to carry it for you. Your room is small and antiquated, but comfy, despite the cold stone walls. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner are served during set hours in the small dining room, you're informed, with bar snacks available most of the day.

The serving staff, you soon discover, range from mildly pleasant to outright hostile, with one particularly stroppy server yelling at the top of her considerable lungs, "What! You want more toast?! What do you think this is, a bloody restaurant?"

Even the cook, as anyone will tell you with amused pride, hates everyone, as evidenced by the stream of Welsh curses and slammed pots and pans from the back kitchen. So wonderful his vindictive humor that he often brings dinner to David himself, masking the pain of the burning plate in his bare hands, just so he can delight when the proprietor burns his own fingers. In that small exchange you glimpse Hallsands' charm, but it is only the beginning.

Echoes of singing and laughter rouse you from your reading to the quiet bar downstairs, which is no longer quiet. University Dive Club students pack the place from wall to wall. They're playing darts and drinking games, laughing, singing shanties, and filling the room with such energy that you can't imagine anywhere else on earth you'd rather be. You're immediately welcomed as one of them, another unasked pint waiting for you on the bar. David's wife, Carole, brings a steady stream of food to the starving patrons, her sharp laughter just as infectious as her husband's. Next thing you know, you're teetering out back to make room for more ale, having forgotten the deadly cliff not three feet away, only to wake bleary-eyed the next morning—or afternoon, maybe—head pounding, wondering how you survived.

And that, you suddenly understand, is why many of the patrons wear sweaters and t‑shirts boasting that they, too, are proud Hallsands survivors.

Hallsands Hotel, located in the heart of rural Devon, means so many things to me that I hardly know where to begin. My parents sent me there one summer, alone at the tender age of 15, to work because David and Carole Light were close friends of the family, and they thought I needed to "get out and experience the world." It was probably the best thing that ever happened to me.

My mother and step-father met in London, but Hallsands was where their relationship took root. They shouldn't have been surprised, then, when I fell in love with the head waitress, with whom I'm still happily married to this day (no, she wasn't the "more toast" server =] ). More than that, Hallsands brought me out of my shell and taught me how to fit in. And, as fascinating as the Hotel itself was, it was David and Carole who made it a truly magical place that drew people in from all over the world. Sadly, the hotel is no more, for I would have loved to send my own children for the same experience that transformed me. (It didn't fall into the sea, if you're curious, but was demolished because it eventually would have.)

However, its spirit lives on in Enigma. The fictional, remote inn of Penance is an amalgamation of my Hallsands experiences, just like Britta's wide-eyed wonder when she steps inside is a reflection of my own. The proprietor, Reece, is a combination of David's amazing personality and a veteran warrior with a dark past. Mae's stroppy attitude—as the primary cook, bartender, and server—reflects the best and worst (okay, mostly the worst) of the real Hallsands serving staff. Britta's awkwardness trying to fit in, being literally from a different world, isn't far from how I felt when I first arrived. And Britta's eventual attachment to the place... Ask anyone who's ever visited Hallsands and they'll simply nod.

At any rate, thanks for sticking with me on this journey down memory lane. I'd been meaning to write something like this for many years and am delighted to have you to share it with.

Hallsands forever! ❤️ 🕯️

Book Sales and Events

• Nov 16, 10-12 am PST — 10 Myths of Publishing webinar. "There is how you wish publishing worked, and there is how it really works. During this webinar, we will explore 10 myths about submissions and publishing that every author should understand." Hosted by my publisher. No registration fee. A great reality check for any aspiring author.
• Nov 29–Dec 1 — LosCon 2024. Water Dragon Publishing will be in LA for this year's humungous LosCon reader convention, which means my books will be too. All of my books because the publisher still has copies of my self published titles and is going to put them on display because they're nice. =] If you're in the area, stop by and check out their booth.

Currently Reading

Thunderhead

Still working on this one. It's been a slow reading month; too many great games to play! (Currently sucked into Factorio: Space Age and Baldur's Gate 3) Still enjoying it, although it feels a tad predictable so far. Hoping the author proves me wrong. Fully intend to finish.

Read full review

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