The Hitchhiker is getting a sequel, and it’s called…

THE LODGER

I’ve been sitting on this for a little while, but I can finally announce that after the absolutely staggering success of my Audible Original The Hitchhiker, a sequel was very quickly commissioned.

This will probably be met with abject disbelief from anyone who listened to The Hitchhiker (in particular the ending), but I didn’t write it intending on there being a follow up. Naturally it shares a world (and some characters) with my other stuff so there was always a chance of certain elements popping up elsewhere, but I only had vague, fanciful ideas of what another chapter might look like. Ideas that very quickly had to solidify into something real when the call for said chapter came.

It's a situation I haven’t really been in before. Yes, I’ve written sequels and I’ve written sequels to highly successful originals, but The Inheritance and Boone Shepard’s American Adventure were both finished to draft stage when the first ones came out, so there was far less a feeling of trying to live up to expectations while actually writing the thing. The pressure feels a little higher this time around.

At the time of writing, The Lodger is only in the earliest stages of development – I’ve been busy grappling with Andromache Between Worlds and now have to dive in to edits on The Caretaker, so it will still be a little while before I start writing in earnest, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t been thinking about it. Initially I’d planned on writing a direct sequel, but that felt wrong. I want The Lodger to stand alone, and so I’ve been shaping a plot that works as both its own thing and a follow up to the events and characters of the earlier book.

The Lodger follows Ryan and Sophie, a young couple who have inherited a farm that neither of them are equipped to run. Their mutual unwillingness to admit the fact has led to a serious divide growing between them, compounded by the isolation of the drought-stricken farm. But when a mysterious man turns up wanting to hire out their guest house, they are drawn into a tense, psychological cat and mouse game doubling as twisted marriage counselling that might just bring them back together – provided they survive.  

And while all this is happening, a vigilante fugitive by the name of Maggie continues a furious hunt for the murderer who eluded her, a hunt that might just deliver her to Ryan and Sophie’s door – and into the clutches of her nemesis.

Like The Hitchhiker, I want The Lodger to be more slow burn tension than explosive violence or action. Which isn’t to say those things won’t be present (they very much will), just that you might have to wait a little bit for everything to blow up. What I’m hoping to capture is something between Patricia Highsmith’s depiction of relationships as a kind of mental battle ground, and Jane Harper’s use of place to craft deadly pressure cookers for her characters.

And unlike its predecessor, I won’t be playing coy about who you might or might not see. Maggie will be back, and the business left unfinished in the previous book will not remain that way at the end of this one.

Crazy Fun Park is out now!

Crazy Fun Park, the brilliant, dark and funny new kid’s show that I helped out in the writer’s room for, has dropped on ABC iView. Check it out here!

Other Projects

After a few unexpected challenges, I finally wrapped up Andromache Between Worlds in mid-December. It was funny how quickly the writing of this book went from energising excitement to hair-pulling frustration – what started out as a fairly simple adventure yarn turned far more complicated, grappling as it does with some huge questions about nature vs nurture, what it means to be a good person, and what we owe to the legacy of our forebears. You know, easy, digestible kid’s stuff.

But I was really happy with how the book landed – while I’m yet to edit and deliver the thing, my feeling is that it’s come out as an emotional, thoughtful but still really fun little book. It feels like a spiritual successor to the Boone Shepard novels, while being entirely its own thing. I just hope my publishers agree.

But I don’t have that much time to dwell on Andromache because notes for The Caretaker have come through and I have to work fast to get that book up to scratch for its July release. I’ve taken a bit of much-needed time off over Christmas to breathe and recalibrate, but between last minute Andromache changes, rewrites on Caretaker, writing Lodger and then gearing up for the release of Caretaker, I’m now going to be absolutely flat out until August at least.

Mansfield Readers and Writer’s Festival

Having my first two major releases out during lockdowns has meant that I often find myself listening to other authors talking about their festival appearances with barely concealed envy. Which is why I’m so excited to be a part of the first ever Mansfield Readers and Writers Festival, which is not only a big exciting festival full of big exciting authors, but is taking place in my hometown.

I’ll be appearing on three panels, discussing the writing journey, life as an author and of course, rural crime, with a big emphasis on The Hunted and The Hitchhiker. The festival weekend is a great excuse for a couple of days away in the High Country – grab some tickets and come along!

The Hitchhiker in ABC Radio’s top books of 2022

An unexpected but lovely surprise was the legendary Dani Vee naming The Hitchhiker as one of the best books of 2022 on national radio. Given its status as a book is technically debateable, hearing it included in some stellar company was very humbling – it’s definitely worth checking out the whole chat, but the Hitchhiker discussion starts at 8:20.

New Blog

Rewatching Glass Onion on Christmas day, a few things stood out. I wrote about them here.

Recommendations

Like everyone else on the planet I was stunned by how good House of the Dragon was. Don’t get me wrong, I was reasonably confident it wouldn’t be a complete mess given all the fury around the Game of Thrones ending and HBO’s need to ensure the future of their cash cow, but what blew me away was how the uninspiring competence of the early episodes soon gave way to something gripping, emotional, and vital. I loved how certain scenes were like one act plays packed with tension and history and simmering resentments unable to be spoken out loud. I loved how every character was a clear villain in one way or another. And I loved everything about the now famous walk to the throne scene in episode eight.

What I did not love was lacking the power I had in Game of Thrones’ heyday of having read the books and being able to smugly allude to big upcoming events. So naturally I had to pick up a copy of Fire and Blood, Dragon’s weighty source material, to rectify this.

I’d been ignoring this book for years, largely because like all George R.R. Martin fans I was pissed off that he released an 800 page fake history of the Targaryen family instead of, you know, the book we’ve been waiting on for over a decade. Plus, comparisons to The Silmarillion did not especially entice me to give it a go. Which is why I was totally taken aback by how quickly it engaged me.

Look, it’s possible that being partway into House of the Dragon already might have predisposed me to it, but I’m not sure if that’s true. The book starts over a hundred years before the TV show does (the events of which don’t kick off until over halfway through) and it’s written in an almost deliberately dry style; any dialogue is treated as clunky historical recollections and a huge amount of time is given over to taxation, construction, and the names of hundreds of minor lords.

But my god is it fun. There’s something audacious about the backstory of a made up kingdom getting this kind of treatment, a strange novelty that only becomes more compelling when conflicting ‘historical accounts’ give later events an engaging Rashomon effect in which one source is inclined to the most pornographic, salacious version of events while another tends towards practically G-rated and entirely unconvincing reports.

But what shocked me the most is how invested I became in characters who are written about as distant figures of a long gone past. A huge chunk of the book is given over to the relatively (I stress relatively, as this is still Westeros) bloodless reign of King Jahaerys and ‘Good Queen’ Alysanne that precipitated the ‘Dance of the Dragons’ depicted in the TV show. For the most part, it’s the account of a competent and beloved monarch’s golden reign. But it’s still rife with tragedy and drama and intrigue, along with one incident that profoundly disturbed me, and its ultimate conclusion was strikingly moving. I cared so much about Jahaerys and Alysanne that getting into the far more explosive events surrounding Rhaenyra and Daemon and the rest was almost a disappointment – still fun to read, but the context of a good King’s hard won victories undone by squabbling heirs makes the pettiness and futility of the conflict that the TV show depicts all the more depressing.

Nothing about this book should be appealing. But I loved reading it and while I’m still annoyed that The Winds of Winter has taken eleven years and counting to get to (allegedly) three quarters finished, this was an entertaining way to return to Westeros and, coupled with the quality of its TV adaptation, went a long way to winning me back to Martin’s world.

Country Hospitality: Part Three of Three

And, with gunshots and speeding cars, Country Hospitality wraps up below. If you missed the first two parts or have entirely forgotten how Maggie ended up in this mess, you can find the first instalment here and the second here.

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She let go of the gun – it remained lodged in his mouth. Before he had a chance to react, she pulled the first ziptie tight around his wrists then grabbed the gun again. ‘Now. Hands up near the gun. And do not be stupid enough to try and grab for it.’

            Slowly he lifted his wrists. Maggie watched him. She let go of the gun, ready for the sudden movement that she’d have to match. It didn’t come. Having a greasy pistol barrel halfway down your throat apparently did wonders for compliance.

            She threaded a ziptie through the trigger ring, up against the trigger then through the other binding the bikie’s hands. She tugged off the bandages around her eye.

            ‘Head forward or I shoot,’ she said.

            He was getting good at this. Maggie wrapped the bandages around his head, wrists and the gun, keeping it firmly in place. He’d worm his way clear soon enough, but that would take time unless he wanted to twitch that trigger and be down half a head.

            He looked completely ridiculous – a mass of bandages obscuring his face and holding his hands in a stupid position. But there was something satisfying about seeing the cocky prick like this. If he screwed up and did start sucking bullets then at least he’d look stupid doing it.

            Happy with her work, Maggie grabbed her backpack and did a quick sweep of the room. She checked that the bikie was still on the floor, on his back and not trying to get loose, then stepped over him, opened the door and headed down the stairs.

            She’d just hit the landing when a voice called out from the right. ‘Leaving already, love?’

            She winced. Fran. Damn it. She took a step back and looked into the dimly lit dining room. ‘Sorry, gotta run.’

            Sitting at the table, Fran stirred a tea. ‘See the eye’s cleared up.’

            Shit.

            ‘More or less.’ Fran leaned forward, squinting. ‘Those stitches?’

            ‘I’d better go,’ Maggie said.

            ‘Have a cuppa with me, love.’

            ‘I’m in a hurry.’

            And then her least favourite sound in the world, for the second time that night.

            Fran placed the cocked gun on the table with a smile. ‘Not asking, love.’

            For a moment the sheer absurdity of this paragon of small-town friendliness holding a pistol made Maggie want to either burst out laughing or demand to know what the fuck was going on. But then it hit her, the one question she hadn’t asked the bikie upstairs.

How had he known exactly where to look?

            ‘They’re good boys, the Scorpions,’ Fran said. ‘Get a bad rap in the papers, but what do they know?’

            ‘They tried to kill me,’ Maggie said. ‘A lot.’

            ‘They’ve always looked after me,’ Fran went on. ‘Nephew was one, did you know? Every time they come through town, they have a little care package for me. Not bad when all you have to do for it is keep an eye out for some sorry sorts. Never had to call one in before. But here you are.’ She chuckled. ‘Imagine that? In my little house. Now, what did you do to poor Ty?’

            ‘Nothing irreversible.’ 

            ‘We’ll see,’ Fran replied. ‘But if you’ve gotten blood on my walls I’ll be in a right state. Just had them repainted. But I’ve called the fellas, said they’ll be here any minute. Ty was just the first to arrive – wanted to get you all to himself! I like that in a man, don’t you? When they’re keen?’

            ‘What I like in men is them not being scumbag bikie shitkickers but–’

            She was cut off by a yell from outside. Maggie stepped to the left, turning as Ty flew from where he’d tripped on the stairs, hit the landing with his back to them then –

            A gunshot. The back of Ty’s head exploded. The front of Fran’s did the same. Maggie was splattered with blood from both directions.

            Silence. Ty and Fran both lay still. Maggie looked between them, before approaching what was left of Fran and prying the gun from her loose grip. Treading carefully around Ty (although what the point was with a splatter of warm brain across her face, Maggie couldn’t say), she headed down the hall and exited into the night. She crossed to her car. A blast of engine from down the road. A single bike, gunning towards her. Maggie lifted the gun and shot the driver in the head. He flew backwards. The bike shot past her, toppling and skidding across the pavement, sparks flying.

            ‘Fucking Scorpions,’ she muttered, getting into her car. 

            She tore away from the B&B, taking sharp, random turns, trying to ignore the dark shapes emerging from the houses. Within seconds she was on the highway again. She took a dirt road, then another, then another again.

            One thing was clear, and it wasn’t Fran’s freshly painted walls. Maggie had to get the fuck out of Victoria. But Sydney, she knew, was a Scorpion stronghold as well and she’d made plenty of enemies up in Queensland during her all too brief tropical sojourn.

            She slowed the car, then stopped. Gripped the wheel, looking into the dark, trying to think.

            Western Australia. So far away it might as well be a different country. Vast and spread out and new. To get there she’d have to travel through the dusty centre of the country – which had not worked out well for her in the past. But that was the thing about Australia – there was a lot of it. Always another road to take, a different direction to turn.

            Maggie glanced up, frowning. That thought had been almost optimistic. But then, what had happened to Ty and Fran had been about as restorative as a good night’s sleep.

            She laughed, started the engine, and drove west.