Why am I doing this?

Ten years ago I met the love of my life, Vince Haig, at Clarion West. To say the workshop was a life-changing experience is obviously an understatement. I am deeply grateful to the organisers of Clarion West for working so hard to foster the talent of the next generation.

What are my writing goals?

I plan to write the first 30k of a new science fiction, hopepunk novel entitled The Clouded Kingdom. 

In a world where love can spark both catastrophe and redemption, Avleen Spence, a former member of the UN's Observer program, must confront the ghosts of her past to shape a brighter future. Disgraced after a duplicate version of her went rogue on Mars and jeopardised the lives of those she was entrusted with protecting, Avleen finds solace in the tranquility of the English fells with her wife, Taz. But when a mysterious invitation arrives from her estranged colleague Jiahao, Avleen is thrust into a dangerous mission in China, intertwining her fate with a virtual reality game and an enigmatic super-sapient mind yearning for freedom.

As Avleen uncovers the secrets buried within the Clouded Kingdom, she becomes entangled in a web of deception with the lives of her loved ones hanging in the balance. She must navigate treacherous alliances, betrayals, and her own inner turmoil. Will she make the sacrifices necessary to protect her friends and discover the truth about her actions on Mars, or will her journey lead to devastating consequences? The Clouded Kingdom is a thrilling and thought-provoking tale that delves into the depths of love, the complexities of power, and the pursuit of wisdom. It should appeal to readers of Nick Harkaway, Amal el-Mohtar and Max Gladstone.

What bonuses can I offer?

Anyone who donates $100.00 will be tuckerised in one of my novels, either The Clouded Kingdom or the first in the series, The Floating City. 

Can I have a taste of it now?

Evening comes late in the Pennines: not the sudden plunge into darkness of the subtropics I was used to but a smooth glide from cornflower blue to brooding mauve. A splash of sunshine lit the underbellies of low-hanging clouds but a strong wind was blowing in over the dales. I might yet see stars.

Early March. Not quite the “bright sun a-shining” as my niece Lakin had been singing for days. The equinox was nearly upon us. With it would come the fyrd and her debut in the Children’s Choir. She was electrified with excitement.

Eight hours earlier I had left Taz to the hurly-burly of her family and she had let me go. Pushed me out the door, really.

“I know what that evil look of yours means,” she’d said. “Have a wander and sort yourself out.”

“You’re sure?” I’d asked. Her dark skin had been warm with health but the last month had been bad.

“I think the placenta’s finally doing the heavy lifting. It’s about time.”

“The second trimester should be easier.”

“We can’t know that.” After a moment, she shrugged and squeezed my arm. “Hey, don’t worry.”

I breathed in. We couldn’t take anything for granted.

“I’m not worrying.”

“Yes, you are. Go.” She shoved me. “Get out. Rosie’s coming over later and if you’re still here by then we won’t get Lakin’s hooks out of you.”

So by noon I was out on the track, crossing the footbridge over the River Rawthey. Some might call it barren but I thought it was beautiful. Wildflowers thrive in limestone country. Blue gentian and purple crocus pushing up through the scree. The wind teased my hair, grown long over the last year. It was good to be outside.

An hour later I’d reached Cautley Spout, a dramatic froth of water cascading down a high cliff face. I unwrapped a bar of pemmican and sat down to rest. Though I’d been hill-walking most days to build up my strength I still had fits of weakness sometimes. Residual damage from the stroke. I was learning my triggers. Stress, emotional changes, even my menstrual cycle.

Never mind. There was no rush.

The sun bludgeoned its way through the clouds to heat my face. My route had brought me through a wild glacial valley but so far the walking had been easy enough. The next bit would be trickier. I wanted to tackle the steep climb onto the fellside above the cascade, then steer west until I reached The Calf.

To do that I’d need to keep my eyes in my feet, as the mountaineer Nan Shephard said. My old friend Early would have approved though it still hurt to think of him. We weren’t speaking.

But in his own way he was still with me. He’d taught me how to read the rocks toppled by the glacier’s path, which clouds meant the weather would turn and which meant it would hold. Still, it barely scraped the surface of what he knew. If you dropped him in the middle of the outback with no food, no water, no shelter, somehow he’d manage to suss out the old soak holes. He loved the land and the land loved him.

And I was learning to love this land. It wasn’t mine, not really, but maybe that didn’t matter.

Clarion West 2023 Write-a-thon

Amal El-Mohtar during the 2019 Summer Reading Series

The Write-a-thon supports Clarion West programs year-round. All donations support Clarion West classes, workshops, panels, and other programs for emerging writers, including our Six-Week Workshop. We also hold events, offer scholarships, raise awareness, and promote diverse speculative fiction in Seattle and all over the world. 

Clarion West

Our mission is to support emerging and underrepresented voices by providing writers with world-class instruction to empower their creation of wild and amazing worlds. Through conversation and public engagement, we bring those voices to an ever-expanding community.

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