I've been working on my latest book which is roughly half completed.
It's a young adult novel. Historical fantasy based on the tale of the Minotaur. I've got a thing for underdogs. I always thought that the Minotaur got a rough deal, particularly when I started reading up on Theseus. Turns out, Theseus wasn't a very nice person. He was actually kind of ruthless. He tortured several people to death and left the woman he promised to marry on a deserted island. History though, is written by the victors. Given that many who wrote about Theseus lived in the heyday of Athens (and Theseus was Athenian), its not surprising that they wrote about him with rose tinted glasses.
So, I've reinterpreted the story. Minotaur (real name Asterion), is not such a bad chap after all.
Here's a teaser:
“Shall I begin then?” asked Minotaur.
Ovid held up one finger. “Momentarily.” He rustled through his satchel, producing a quill and a thick sheaf of papyrus. He set them down on the table before him, squinting intently at both objects through bleary eyes as if trying to divine their origins. His eyes suddenly brightened. He bent down again, retrieving a small corked glass bottle filled with a dark liquid.
“Can’t write without ink now, can I? This here is the best octopus ink you can buy. The merchant I purchased it from assured me it was from a giant squid fished from the deepest waters off Ostia.”
Minotaur nodded disinterestedly. “Are you ready?” he asked in a tone that suggested he was losing patience.
“Yes,” said Ovid. “No. Wait.” He picked up the jug of wine from the floor and took a mighty swig, smacked his lips in satisfaction before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He set the jug on the table next to his writing implements. He winked at Minotaur and smiled crookedly. “Writers lubrication.” He took a deep breath and blew it out, filling the air with alcohol fumes.
“All set,” he declared finally.
“Where shall I start?”
Ovid made an expansive gesture with both hands. “Where else but the beginning of course.”
Minotaur nodded his huge head. “Yes,” he said. “Yes,” his eyes already glazing over with the weight of thousand year old memories.
And then he began.
phillip w. simpson
Phillip W. Simpson is an author of YA and children's books.