Welcome, friend! Today I bring you a collaborative post with author Michael J. Stiehl. We are chatting about his mystery/horror novel, Sanctuary.

---

Get to know the author: Michael J. Stiehl

Welcome Michael! Tell me and my readers a bit about yourself!

When I was a kid I fell in love with writing through comic books. I loved stories by Peter David, Alan Moore, Frank Miller, Neil Gaiman and so many others – the 80’s were golden years for writing in comics. Later I was drawn to George R. R. Martin’s Wildcards books which ultimately led me to Isaac Asimov and classic Sci-Fi.

As a kid I would day dream about super heroes and science fiction, occasionally trying to put those dreams on paper but never finishing anything. In college I migrated from creative writing to journalism before becoming pragmatic and abandoning the idea of writing for a living altogether to pursue other interests.

I still thought about writing after college though, even starting a book or short story from time to time but never finishing it. Finally, a few years ago, I gave a friend of mine feedback on his third novel and he suggested I give writing another try.

I’m glad I did.

Since then I’ve been writing as much regular life allows, creating characters, stories and worlds. It’s the most fun I’ve had doing something in a long time. Recently I re-watched the movie Stand By Me – which I loved as a kid – and was struck by the scene where Chris tells Gordie he could be a real writer if he tried and that the stories he can make up are a gift he shouldn’t lose. 

It reminded me that creativity is a gift and that I should make the most of what talent I have. I’m happy to say that my novella Sanctuary is my reward for doing just that.

What inspired you to write this book?

I wrote a novella a few years ago that didn’t work but that had a character in it named Theobard that I liked. I couldn’t shake wanting to know more about him, who he was and where he came from. Sanctuary started as my attempt to answer those questions.

Once I started writing I got interested in the idea of how sometimes people we meet, and fall in love with, change our lives forever. From there Dellia came into view and I could tell right away the interactions between Dellia and Theobard were exciting. The story took off from there, driven by Theobard’s past and present but altered by his feelings for Dellia.

How long did it take you to write this book, from the first idea to the last edit?

I spent about three months on the first draft and then another three or four getting feedback and doing edits. So from the first idea to the final version probably a little less than a year.

What makes your story unique?

Its setting. I tried to create a world that was like things people have seen before but a little different. It’s a bit fantasy but also a bit old gothic mystery like Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë. I love how that book makes you think it’s going to be one thing, a Victorian drama, and then turns into a sort of ghost / horror story. I wanted a story with compelling set of characters that lead you through an unfamiliar place to uncover a mystery.

Who would enjoy reading your book? 

I’d like to think anyone who likes puzzles and mysteries. In the end I think Sanctuary is a character driven story filled with mystery, horror and danger but also human drama. Often Theobard is as confused as anyone about what’s happening around him. Hopefully readers will find his journey to the truth satisfying.

What’s something you hope readers would take away from it?

I’d like readers to consider that sometimes you have to be who you are, no matter what. However, choosing that truth can come with a price but, even if it’s a huge price, being who you are is worth it. It’s like Shakespeare said “This above all: to thine own self be true…”

Do you have a favourite quote or scene in the book that you find yourself going back to?

I do but I can’t reveal it here without ruining the book. I will say that I love the final chapter more than anything else, and I’ve probably read it more than any other part of the book.

What is something you have learned on your author journey so far?

That the old quote by Hemingway, “the only kind of writing is rewriting.” is completely true.

What’s the best piece of advice you have received related to writing?

There would be two; one from Stephen King, that the second draft should always be ten percent shorter than the first, and the second from Neil Gaiman, always finish your story.

If you could give a shout out to someone(s) who has helped in your writer journey, please feel free to mention them below!

My good friend, and fellow author, Benjamin Chandler who has a wonderful self-published book called Lasturia available on Amazon right now. Everyone should read it.

---

Book Excerpt from
Sanctuary

The girl with the bronze skin was laughing. She sat on the back of a careworn old mule not far from where Dak and Theobard struggled with the portcullis. “You’ll snap yourself in half before you lift that,” she said, her cheerful voice smoothing a sarcastic tone.

Dak and Theobard gave the portcullis another heave, pointedly ignoring her. It did not budge. Defeated, they turned their backs to it, slumped to the ground, and rested against the cool, rough stones of the Sanctuary’s wall. The great gate soared over their heads; its smooth finished stones locked together in a crisp geometric pattern that contrasted with the geologic chaos of the wall that supported it. The broken portcullis appeared to Theobard like the teeth of a great laughing face.

Theobard watched the slow-moving water of the indolent river surrounding the Sanctuary pass under the sturdy bridge that connected them to the mainland. Its gentle burbling against bridge pilings created a soothing murmur. Theobard found it comforting to see with his own eyes something he had heard so many nights in his cell.

“We need to try something else.” Dak signed to Theobard.

Theobard agreed, but didn’t know what. He stared at the girl, who was absently swinging her feet back and forth along the sides of the mule. She met his gaze with a fierce look and a half smile, which Theobard found unsettling. He was not bothered because she was a girl—something that was forbidden in the Sanctuary. He was bothered because she was entirely too carefree for someone strapped to a pack animal with her hands tied.

She continued to defy his stare even as a curtain of her long, black, tightly curled hair slowly slipped across her face, covering half of it completely. Light from the torches on either side of the gate reflected off her single visible eye and Theobard struggled to place its colour, ultimately deciding that it looked metallic and golden. She continued to stare, her strange eye daring him to look away. He did.

 If only Brother Balcus and Brother Marco weren’t so difficult, he thought, or so foolish as to have insulted and injured the caravan traders.

Theobard thought back to the confusing scene confronting him once he had gathered the courage to crawl under the portcullis after Dak. In the dim moonlight that filtered through the fog, they had seen two traders; one older, one younger, arguing with Balcus and Marco. 

Theobard had been shocked to see the two Brothers openly yelling at the traders, the light from their torches flickering across their contorted faces. Dak, seeing his concern, signed to him that outside of the wall, it was not a sin to speak. This had calmed Theobard some, but he still feared the consequences, despite Dak’s assurance. 

Dak had taken charge of the scene, intervening with a few furious signs that Balcus translated for the befuddled traders. Peace followed his insistence that Balcus and Marco apologise for whatever offence they had caused. Feet shuffling, eyes to the ground, they did as they were told. 

Theobard’s muscles ached as he sat looking at the trader’s creaky, old, covered wagon. He was still angry Marco and Balcus had contrived inventorying it to avoid helping with the portcullis. It was a worn old thing, its wooden wheels cracked and chipped from many trips down bumpy roads, with crude patches strewn across its canvas covering. Harnessed to its front were two ancient nags that looked to have seen as many miles as the wagon they pulled.

The older of the two traders stood next to the wagon dressed in the fancifully coloured breeches of the Duarbu. He wore a matching blouse, covered in mud, and was holding his right arm with his left, in obvious pain. Next to him stood a younger trader, who Theobard assumed was his son. They shared the same hawkish nose and beady eyes, but the lad was taller than his father and skinnier, with a drawn and bony face giving him the impression of one who had experience going without food. 

Theobard noticed the younger man scowling at him, words soundlessly forming on his lips as though he were practicing a speech. He had blood running down the bridge of his nose and Theobard watched as the lad carelessly rubbed the beige sleeve of his shirt across his face. The older man’s enormous eyebrows were furrowed in pain above his eyes, like two caterpillars mating. Theobard saw mud crusted in his long drooping moustache and wondered if the man had fallen on his face.

“Oafs!” the lad yelled in a reedy voice, startling Balcus and Marco as they pretended to count items in the wagon. “My father’s head coulda been caved in by ya thick skulls. Hadn’t no one told you never ta grab another man’s horse?”

The words echoed briefly off the towering stone walls and across the vastness of the Dogyari. Neither Balcus nor Marco replied, which only angered the young trader further. “Stop ya stallin’ now and pay up! We brung what ya asked for, and then some. Lucky we don’t charge ya more for the insult.”

“How was I supposed to know that sack of bones was so skittish?” Balcus roared. “If you’d helped us unload the cart, as I asked, there would have been no need for me to come near that old nag, let alone drag her toward the gate.”

“We’re traders, not porters,” the old man croaked. “Even without this,”—he indicated his right arm—“no way we was ever gonna haul this stuff under ya broken down old gate. That, brother, is ya own business.”

Dak got to his feet with a sigh and headed toward the four of them. Theobard began to follow, but Dak signed for him to stay put. Theobard obeyed.

“Just pay us already and we’ll unload this stuff right here. We’re eager to be rid of ya,” barked the young trader. “I couldn’t care less if tha Devil himself took it now, so long as we get our coin.”

Dak touched Balcus on the shoulder and signed to him so quickly Theobard couldn’t follow. Balcus made a questioning face and replied with a short burst of signs. Theobard saw Dak give the unmistakable sign for “Go!” and Balcus slunk off towards the gate, eventually disappearing under the broken portcullis.

“Hey,” said the girl on the mule, “do you understand what I’m saying?”

Theobard nodded that he did.

“Good, come here.” 

Theobard stood and walked closer. He saw she was about his age, maybe a little older. Under her unruly hair, Theobard could see her pert nose and large, round eyes sat on a beautifully oval face. His eyes drifted reflexively downward to the ground. As they did, he took note of her loose fitting indigo short-sleeved blouse, riddled with a yellow undulating pattern, which elegantly displayed her supple yet well-muscled arms. She wore a pair of leather riding pants that hugged the shape of her graceful legs, tucked neatly into a pair of knee-high, black boots. The boots had the image of a well-muscled man breaking a chain under a rising sun worked into them with raised golden thread. It was beautiful, and Theobard reached out to run his fingers along the pattern.

“What are you doing?” said the girl, moving her foot away from him. “Eyes here,” she ordered, to bring his attention back to her face.

Sorry, Theobard signed.

“Are you mute?” she asked.

Theobard struggled to answer. He was afraid of his voice. He knew Dak had said it wasn’t a sin to speak outside of the wall, but it wasn’t Dak’s wrath he feared. He looked at the girl and saw her boiling impatience, watched her cross her arms and glare at him. He felt the pressure of her expectation and his need to please her collide. 

“No,” he whispered, shaking his head from side to side.

“Good,” she replied. “That will make this easier. I can fix it.”

Theobard looked at her, confusion spreading across his face.

“Your portcullis—your gate—I can fix what’s wrong with it.”

“You can?” he ventured quietly, feeling reassured there had been no consequence following his last response. 

“Yes, I gather that’s the source of the problem here, isn’t it? I mean, aside from four lazy men who don’t want to do a damn bit of work.” 

“I suppose,” Theobard stammered, remembering he was prone to doing that.

“With the gate fixed, they can pull that wagon inside, unload it, and be on their way. I’m tired of sitting here. I’d rather be back trudging through the swamp with those two idiots than listening to another minute of this stupid argument.”

“Ok,” Theobard mumbled. “I’ll tell them.”

“Good,” replied the girl, pushing her hair out of her face with her bound hands. “And make sure you tell them I can’t fix anything all tied up.”

---

Interested?

Find Sanctuary on Goodreads and Amazon.

Thank you for hanging out with us today! Connect with Michael on Goodreads and Facebook.

---

If you are an indie author and would like to do a book excerpt, check out my work with me page for details. Check out other book excerpts here.

Cover image: Photo on Unsplash