Friday 29 November 2013


Around us is an invisible ecosystem of spirit creatures.

Tom Corloni is one of the few people who can see them. But this gift means that they notice him in return - and he looks delicious.

In order to protect himself from magical predators, Tom becomes the apprentice of a black magician.

While other kids are at cricket practice, Tom is learning to deal with demons, trading pieces of himself for safety and power.

But how much will be left by the time he's ready to graduate? And what will he do if his mum finds out?

Discipline is a gripping fantasy tale, taking you from a small country town to the gates of Hell.

If you're in Australia, I can send you a copy for $25 including postage - just message me through Facebook.

If you're elsewhere in the world or you prefer an ebook, you can get Discipline from:
Still not sure? Here's a little sample for you. At this stage of the story, Tom is nine years old and his ancient master is showing him how a magician enforces his borders.

At least once a month Kevin would patrol the perimeter and I usually accompanied him. It was a car trip of some twelve hours. We’d drive from town out to the edge of our territory, then do a long loop around it. He had a map with the agreed boundaries on it, hand-drawn in meticulous detail, and we followed it very carefully.

The windows were always wound down, even in the coldest weather. I didn’t know why until the first time we found something.

“Can you smell that?” Kevin said.

I sniffed deeply. There was something rank in the air, a musky miasma that heated my nose like chilli.

“It’s pretty yucky, Master. What is it?”

“It’s not a demon, and it’s nothing holy. What do you think?”

“Something undead? A zombie?”

“Good guess, but no. The spells that generate them generally keep the odour contained. So what else could it be? I know you know it, it’s in the basic texts.”

I sniffed again. It was like really bad breath, with a coppery tang to it. And as I breathed out, there was a hint of wet fur.

“Is it something cursed, like a wendigo or a were?”

“I believe so. We won’t know which until we find it, but it will be something of that sort. A predator, certainly, it stinks of old blood.”

He pulled the car over to the verge and slowed down to a crawl, taking us between the trees until we were completely hidden from the road. Reaching down behind the seat, he extracted a long leather satchel.

“Wait here,” he said, “don’t leave the car for any reason.”

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