Christoffer Petersen

Authentic Arctic Thrillers

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The Carpathian Connection

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And the first release of 2022 is The Carpathian Connection! Now, it is a short story, and unfortunately I can’t claim the words for my million word challenge as I wrote it in 2021. But it’s LIVE!

The Carpathian Connection is a short story, written as a reward for a Kickstarter campaign (I did change the name of one of the characters for this release). It’s around 8,000 words, or just over 25 paperback pages. The story features Constable David Maratse and reunites him with Constable Nujakina Uppik. She turned up for the first time in The Skin Drum, and I’m curious that she returned for this story. It’s one of those odd moments when needing a character for the story, they just arrive, as if waiting in the wings, holding up their hands, and saying, “I’ll take this one.”

I know. It’s weird. But that’s what happens.

The story starts with the discovery of a body, of course, and then Maratse does his thing. There is a chase, plenty of Greenland “stuff” – you know, boats, bergs, and bodies.

I think it’s a fun read. 🙂

I’ll be back with another post tomorrow. (Note to self: got to figure out how to get a girl out of a burning barn… working on it!)

Chris

And that was 2021!

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I think everyone has had a mixed, and most likely challenging 2021. I’m also certain that many people have had a really tough time. My 2021 has been up and down, but fortunately it has been mostly up, not least because of all the support I have received from readers of my books, and, dare I say, fans of Petra and Maratse. I honestly wasn’t sure what kind of year 2021 was going to be, but I am pleased to say it turned out all right in the end.

That end included a much needed Christmas break with my folks in Manchester. Again, touch and go if it was going to happen, and still uncertain regarding the outcome of the assorted tests required before and after our visit, but ultimately positive.

I tend to forget about family when I am so focused on my writing. And, as you know, I write a lot, so I tend to be rather focused – a lot. I’m going to work on a better balance of the two this year, i.e. family and work, but also friends. I may have played the covid card a few times, when what I really should have played was the working hard card instead. I don’t know. I’m still figuring it out.

What this means in practice, is a change of my working practice. I have relied heavily on pre-orders in the past and in 2021. While a pre-order deadline has been a positive motivational factor, I have also come unstuck a few times. So, in achieving a better balance, I will not be doing pre-orders in 2022.

Fortunately, that doesn’t mean fewer books.

Hell no! 🙂

There are plenty in the works, including more than a few Petra books. She and I have finally reached an understanding. She does what she does, and I just have to let her do it. So, there will be more Greenland Missing Persons books in 2022.

I have more Maratse stories on the way, too. But you know, he’s the quiet type, rarely shouts about anything at all, and although he insisted he get his own series after The Ice Star, he did so quietly. More on the way from him too.

But now I’ve mentioned The Ice Star, it seems only fair that Fenna and Mikael get more stories too. So you can expect news about a sequel to The Shaman’s House, which will be the fourth in that series, and, at long last, more books in the Sirius Sledge Patrol series with Mikael and Co.

That’s it for now, though.

All that remains is to thank you for your generous support in 2021. I hope you’ll find something of interest to keep you coming back in 2022.

Ukiortaami Pilluarit!

Happy New Year!

Chris

Who wants to be a millionaire?

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Scene from the hospital in Ilulissat, Greenland when I was having something or other stitched up. Well, after I was stitched up, of course.

I’ve been dialling in on my challenge for 2022, and with just four days to go, I have made a decision: I’m going for a million!

While I would love to think I’m going to earn a million, let’s face it, that’s not going to happen. But, there’s another million that will make me just as ‘rich’ and it is within reach.

Kind of.

In 2021 I wrote roughly 700,000 words (still counting). Those 700,000 words include the following:

  • 13+ novellas (15,000+ words each)
  • 3+ novels (40,000+ words each)
  • 52+ short stories (mostly 5,000+ words each, often longer)
  • plus several unfinished projects of varying length

That’s what I have ‘found’ but there’s more that I have put to one side, or simply forgotten. Note to self: better filing needed!

However, it’s still a lot of words.

The short story challenge stretched me as a writer, and gave me plenty of opportunity to have fun with different ideas, POVs, genres, etc. But it distracted me a little. Okay, it distracted me a lot. I mean, I enjoyed it, but it took a lot of focus.

The rewards included stories like Witch Bluff and Witch Hunt that I wrote for Jane, but had so much fun with the characters – and setting (it was warm), that I didn’t mind the distraction. The science fiction and fantasy stuff did the same, but I wanted to do more with each of them, i.e. I need more sci-fi in my life. (Don’t worry Petra fans, I won’t forget about her. Or Maratse!)

So, at this point in the post, some readers might think that’s a lot of words already, and it is. But they were specific words if that makes sense. Focused.

2022 is going to be different.

I intend to write 1,000,000 words of fiction in 2022.

The rules –  there are always rules – will be such:

Rule 1: Countable words will be publishable fiction only. This means, in my head at least, that I must edit and proof these words and publish them. So no blog posts, or emails, or anything like that. Only fiction. Poetry – yes, there will be more poetry – can be counted, but it’s often just a handful of words. But likewise, the ‘words’ can be published in any length – from short story to novel.

Rule 2: I can count the words in 2022, but am ‘allowed’ to publish in 2023+. In other words, I can spread the publishing over time.

Rule 3: Omnibus editions and Collections don’t count. Those words are second-hand, so not valid. Only ‘new words’ written in 2022 are countable!

Rule 4: I must hold myself accountable. Meaning, I will blog about my progress, typically at the end of each month, adding an updated total of words written, and links to the works published. But I can already anticipate blogs through the month with a bit of progress, or a finished project.

Rewards: A huge chunk of inventory, and the fun of exploring new stories and characters.

That’s about it. I just need to get going.

I’ve committed to some ‘external projects’ in 2022, so there will be some weeks and months when the wordage is low, maybe very low, but I’ll make up for it along the way.

The words won’t all be Christoffer Petersen projects, and I will slot projects in under different pen names, including the secret ones, along the way. Some of the projects I allocate words to will be decidedly not Greenland, crime, or thriller related, mostly in order to stay sane.

There will also be challenges within the challenge, such as Barbarian Week, which will be self explanatory when I get that far, but will make zero sense to those following this blog purely for the mystery(ish) and crime stories. But Barbarian Week is definitely going to happen, along with other weeks through the year.

So that’s it.

All that remains is to say: challenge accepted.

Chris

P.S.

Shame about the blog posts not being counted. This one clocks in at six-hundred and seventy-five!

 

 

Border Land

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I’ve got a lot of forgotten projects on different computers. Some I find and develop, others get forgotten, again, perhaps never to see the light of day.

I don’t quite know what to do with Border Land. I’ve written a few chapters and am still deciding if the project is a go or not.

Border Land is set in the Border Lands of the German and Danish border where I live.

Here’s the prologue (rough edit). See what you think.

Chris

 

Border Land

Prologue

Kegnæs Fyr, Germany

February 10th, 1920

 

The blade was pitted, much like the old man’s face, but the edge was keen, like his eyes, as he climbed the stone steps of the lighthouse, the knife gripped between gnarled fingers. He was too old for this kind of work, but the committee had agreed it should be him, that he was the least likely to be suspected. He could do the job, and no one would be the wiser.

“Besides,” the committee had said. “Once the vote is in, no one will be looking for him. They’ll think he’ll have fled to Germany.”

And he should have. The old man had told him – he would have helped him, even, had it not been for the letter. Several letters that the committee knew about. It was hoped the young man in the lighthouse would have them.

“But if he doesn’t,” they said. “And if he won’t tell you where they are, then you be sure he takes that secret to the grave. Be sure now, Magnus. Be sure he takes it to the grave.”

Magnus paused to lean against the curved wall of the staircase. He looked at his fingernails in the soft oil light. He could smell the earth beneath his nails. If he closed his eyes, he could see the grave, just a hundred metres from the lighthouse, hidden in a small copse of trees. There was a cart beside the lighthouse keeper’s house.

“Use that,” they told him. “To move the body. Save your back, Magnus.”

Save your back.

“Save their necks, more like,” he whispered.

He looked up as the oil lamp flickered.

“Who’s there?”

The soft voice slid around the curve in the wall. Magnus slipped the knife back into the pocket of his winter jacket, cursing softly as the blade nicked the lining.

“Just me, William,” he said.

“Magnus?”

“That’s right.” Magnus waited a moment, then said, “I’m coming up. All right?”

“Yes,” William said, although the word was more a breath than a welcome. “Come on up.”

Magnus took the steps one at a time, pausing as he neared top, slowing as he lifted his feet onto the narrow rungs of the ladder, the last few feet onto the platform that ringed the great lamp. William held out his hand, grasping for the old man in the dark, pulling him into the light that shone across the sound from the southern tip of the island of Als and across the water to the rest of Germany.

The uncontested part.

“I know why you’ve come,” William said, stepping back to give Magnus room.

“I didn’t want to.”

William gripped the rail and looked the older man in the eye. Magnus paled under William’s stare, shivering in the frigid air blowing off the sound. He tugged his coat closer around his body, slipped his hands into his pockets, head twitching to one side as his left hand closed around the handle of the knife.

“They’re not here,” William said. “The letters.”

“Where are they?”

“Safe.” William shrugged. “No one will find them.”

“The committee doesn’t believe you.”

“They should.” William nodded in the direction of the city of Sønderborg. “The vote’s in. We all know which way it will go. It’s done.”

“Apart from your letters.”

“It takes two to write a letter.”

“And the other half,” Magnus said. “They’ve burned their correspondence. Like you should have done, William.”

William tugged a pair of gloves from his belt. He offered them to Magnus, smiling as the old man shook his head.

“Calfskin,” William said, teasing the gloves onto his hands. “Local made. Not German.”

“It wouldn’t matter if they were,” Magnus said.

“Yes, old man. It would matter. It will always matter.” William walked around the lamp and Magnus followed. “Out there,” William said, pointing across the fjord. “Ships passing the two points, they’re sailing into history tonight. Just imagine it. Being aboard the last ship to pass Kegnæs Fyr, guided by a German light one second, then Danish in the next as the lamp turns. That should be recorded in the captain’s log. It means something now, but in the future it’ll mean more. They’ll talk about it. Maybe even write about it.”

“No one must write about what’s in those letters, William,” Magnus said. His lips quivered in the chill air. “They can never write about it.”

“But these are voices – people’s voices. We can’t silence them.”

“We must. That’s what the committee wants.”

“But why, Magnus?”

The knife grew heavy in Magnus’ fingers. “You’re a fool to ask such a question. More so if you don’t know the answer.” Magnus pulled the knife slowly from his pocket. The tip caught on the thick fold of the lip. He jerked it free. “You know why I’ve come tonight, William.”

William’s eyes fixed on the knife. The blade flashed once with the turn of the lighthouse lamp. It flashed again on the next, and a third time before he answered.

“You’ve come for the letters.”

Magnus lowered the blade out of the light, hiding it in the shadow cast by his body.

“Not just the letters. They want more than that.”

“If you murder me,” William said. “You’ll never find the letters. Not you, not them. No one.”

“Ah, William,” Magnus said. “That’s the wrong thing to say.”

“What is?”

Magnus took a small step towards the young lighthouse keeper, forcing William closer to the railing.

“You’ve should’ve run when I told you to.”

“I still could,” William said. “Magnus, please. Listen to me. I can still run.”

“No, William. You can’t.”

The committee chose Magnus for his age and familiarity. Magnus was well-liked and well-known in the local area. All doors were open to Magnus Pallesen. He was the perfect farmer – hard-working, soft spoken, a quiet German.

At least until midnight.

At midnight, when the vote was in, Magnus would shed his patriotic skin and clothe himself in the new colours of his old nation. He would speak up, loudly. Chorusing the celebrations, championing the will of the people, burying past affiliations, just like William buried the box of letters – closed correspondence written to influence the fate of a people. But now that the people had decided, those words were better burned or buried. Silenced, like young William Brand, as the wind rushed from his lungs, expelled with the hard slap of the ground against his back.

The lighthouse lamp turned, lighting the waters, steering the captains and their ships across one border and into another.

The Short Story Challenge

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If you’re reading this then I succeeded in a personal challenge I set myself this time last year. I signed up for the challenge to write one short story a week for fifty-two weeks, and I recently uploaded the last one.

For those of you following my blog, or curious/concerned about the variety of pen names, genres and other “stuff” I’ve been writing this year, the challenge goes some way to explaining that.

What I discovered was, I like short stories. I need to get better at them, but I enjoy writing them. Some are available to buy, some are in collections, and some are in a digital pile as I wonder what to do with them. But they are done.

What’s next?

Another challenge?

That’s the question I’m asking myself at the moment. And while I think I have an idea, I’m still mulling it over.

Chris

Some method, plenty of madness!

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I was recently interviewed for Mystery & Suspense Magazine about writing crime novellas, and to share some thoughts on why novellas can be a really good length for crime stories, and why so few crime writers write them.

If that sounds like a contradiction in terms, then you’re absolutely right. It is contradictory. But, as I mention in the interview – alongside a host of fantastic authors, I might add – novellas work for me in many different ways.

I wrote my very first Maratse novella: Katabatic between the Fenna novels and Seven Graves, One Winter. The experience was liberating, and I was consumed by the story, inspired by the length, and motivated to write more.

I wrote a lot more.

And with each novella I wrote, I allowed myself to explore topics, writing styles, and new characters within a ‘safe’ and supportive story format. Safe in this context hopefully doesn’t mean boring, as I had so much fun writing Maratse’s novellas, and that fun spilled over into the Greenland Missing Persons series too.

I don’t go in for padding. A story is the length it needs to be, and if that length is a novella, and it works, then it makes no sense to pad it out to hit publishers’ (and readers’) expectations of longer works. Some stories demand more pages, and that works too. But a story is meant to entertain, and I’m sure we’ve all read stories that could have been 100 pages shorter. Likewise, many readers who have enjoyed my novellas often wish they were a bit longer.

I understand that too.

And so I still write novels.

But I’m itching to write more novellas.

However, I think it’s best to return to this topic later, and give you a chance to read the article first.

The interviewer, William Burton McCormick, is an established author in his own right, and has recently published one of his award winning short stories.

I’ll be back with more thoughts about novellas and short stories later.

Chris