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12 Books in 12 Months

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Book Six Excerpt

This is an excerpt from what I’ve written for book six, but it’s really just background characterisation and I don’t think I’ll end up using much of it in the final draft.  Still, thought I should point out I’ve written something…

Nicola woke up with her face stuck to the cheap plastic keyboard of her work PC.  She rubbed her cheek to get rid of the indentations, but knew from experience it would take a while to return to normal.

The monitor in front of her stopped playing its screensaver, revealing a too-white document that was a mess of m’s and 8’s and ‘hn’s.

Still, at least she’d saved her story this time.

Continue reading “Book Six Excerpt”

#WIP: Book Five Excerpt

He hated the cousins.  They weren’t even first cousins, he muttered to himself indignantly, they were his mum’s cousin’s daughters.  Hardly even relations at all, really.

They were two sets of identical twins.  The oldest pair were Violet and Daisy, who were 9 and a half and enjoyed ballet, horse riding, and ‘accidentally’ setting things on fire.  The younger two were Jasmine and Lily, who were aged 7 and three quarters and mainly liked digging holes.  They looked exactly the same as their older sisters but for being a tiny bit shorter, and all four of them were the spitting image of their father – mum’s cousin Simon.  What this meant in practice was that they were broad shouldered, ginger haired, and decidedly abrasive.  They also liked to dress in various shades of shocking pink, which meant you could always see them coming.

Eric thought this was probably because they liked to give you a bit of time to start properly dreading their arrival.  When you saw the wall of pink tulle ahead in the distance, your stomach turned to lead and you wanted to run as fast as you could in the opposite direction.

“No wonder their mum works abroad,” he thought gloomily, lowering his head into his hands as they took it in turns to hurl insults through the door, “I’d leave the country too if they were my kids.”

A Link and a #WIP

Here is a piece of flash fiction you should read, particularly if you are a fan of fine literature.

And here is a snippet of what I have written today:

We sat like that for what seemed like hours – although I suspect it was only twenty minutes – before Cookie bounded in from his bath completely starkers.

“COOK,” I bellowed, mortified, “pit some claithes on!”

Baffled, he looked down at himself, but even then the realisation of what was wrong took a while to dawn on him.

Then he registered Mhairi, and all at once he seemed to understand.

“Good day,” he said to her with a polite bow. “You must be Mhairi.  Will you excuse me for a moment?  I appear to have forgotten my clothes.”

In case this needs explaining: Cookie is an old pal of Victor’s who is losing it a bit, and has run away from the nursing home his daughter stuck him in.

#WIP – Tandy

I looked around for a phone, but couldn’t see one anywhere.  It looked like I’d have to go all the way back down to the concierge’s office and call for help from there… but I didn’t fancy waiting around and having to admit that I’d lied to him in order to get up here.  Equally I didn’t want to keep up the pretense to the authorities, and wind up organizing a stranger’s funeral.

I turned away from Mrs Kerr and moved towards the doorway, when I thought I heard a door close.

“Wayne?” I said, “that you, son?”

“Wayne’s gone,” came a voice, as the door opposite this one creaked open.  “Mum kicked him out weeks ago and we’ve never seen him since.”

The voice belonged to a small girl, very skinny, who was clad in a ballerina tutu, pyjama bottoms, and a denim jacket.  Her hair hung lank about her shoulders and her face wore the remains of her last meal – which looked like it might’ve been chocolate and baked beans.

“And how long’s your mum been like that?”  I asked.

“Three days,” the girl replied.  “She gets like this, sometimes.  She’ll wake up soon though.”

#WIP – The Highrises

With no idea of how far up flat 159 would be, I pressed the button for the top floor and waited.  It took a few moments for the lift to creak into life, and when it did there was a horrible crunching of gears before it juddered asthmatically upwards.  I’d never been more grateful to live in a bungalow.

#WIP – Mhairi Mclennan

“It’s they kids,” she stated flatly.

I wondered whether Mhairi Mclennan could read minds.  It wouldn’t surprise me if she could.  Folk from up north are always more magical, I’ve noticed.

“I’ve seen them outside your house, throwing things,” she explained when I didn’t respond.  “They target me, too.  Ring the doorbell and run away.  Put things through my letterbox.”

She paused.

“Nasty things.”

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