To be honest, I am now working on only one thing, and when that is done, I won’t be working on anything else until the New Year. I believe I have said before, I aim to have ‘1893’ ready for you before Christmas.
A quick summary:
Five characters meet in a fog-bound railway station the night before Christmas Eve, 1893, and there, they are catered for by the stationmaster, Harry Carnforth. Their onward train is delayed, so they spend the night telling each other stories. There is also a plot surrounding these shorts, so the book, like ‘1892’, is a set of short stories set within a novella, I suppose. It, like its counterpart, should run to about 60,000 words.
I am currently up to 51,000 words, but I still have a way to go, so there will be editing involved later.
I have given myself until the end of this month to produce a decent second draft, so I need to get on with it, as there are still two stories to complete, plus the rest of the outer story which wraps them.
To, hopefully, keep you interested, here is another quick snippet, this time from (the unedited) ‘The Barrister’s Tale, Part One.’
Chapter VI
THE BARRISTER’S TALE, PART ONE
Hard leather soles clacked on the marble tiles as the defence barrister (to be) hurried to the robing room. With his morning’s brief under one arm, and his beloved copy of Blackstone’s under the other, he shouldered his way backwards through a pair of double doors, and clacked his way into another, longer and more hallowed marble corridor. There, a murder of hooded crows flitted this way and that, stopped to peck over some titbit of a case, or hung around the alcoves smoking pipes, but mainly, they were in the process of finding a place to settle for the morning; a courtroom where they could caw and crow and jabber and feel very important because they knew the law.
Creswell, head down, knew exactly what room he was making for, and also knew that the slightest delay would cause him to be late. All the same, there were rituals to follow, and they began with the ancient Rite of the Unnecessary Greeting, where each exchange was accompanied by a brief nod.
‘Creswell.’
‘Blinkinthop.’
‘Creswell.’
‘Smitherston-Minor.’
‘It’s Smitherson-Major, actually.’
‘That’s a matter of opinion. Mackay.’
‘Creswell.’
‘Creswell… Blithering idiot, that’s a mirror.’
The robing room was just as hectic, but also a place where the Rite of the Unnecessary Greeting became expanded.
‘Creswell.’
‘Jones.’
‘Are you well?’
‘Well enough. What you got?’
‘Theft. It’s all theft this morning.’
‘Morning, Creswell.’
‘Larrow.’
‘I think you’re up against me.’
Creswell was, because he was reaching over the man to collect a book.
‘Who do we have to entertain this morning, Mr Larrow? Any idea?’
In Creswell’s opinion, Larrow had very little idea about anything, certainly not the law. How he ever became a barrister was beyond Creswell’s ken, and he had hoped for a more worthy opposition in the, hopefully, last case of his pupillage.
‘No, I have no idea,’ the prosecution replied, donning his wig to become more like a white-headed woodpecker than a hooded crow. He certainly had the nose for it. ‘Clerk told me a name, but it’s not one I know. He’s coming in from out of town, they say. The Honourable…’ he examined a docket, ‘Sir Barkley Sproot, but no-one seems to have heard of him.
‘Then I, alas, am also no-one,’ Creswell said, fixing the last of his plumage. ‘Let’s hope Sproot’s a hoot, eh?’
‘Hoot is the word,’ Larrow quipped as he headed for the door.
‘Oh? Why?’
‘Read your brief, Creswell,’ the opposition replied and was lost to the flock.
PROMO
MAYHEM & MOTIVES: Mystery, Thriller, & Suspense Reads
Genres: Mystery & Suspense, Mystery & Suspense / Cozy Mystery, and Mystery & Suspense / Thriller
Here’s my monthly return to a favourite place, and this time, there are 77 titles in the list. Not necessarily gay, these thrillers and action novels are all promoted by the mighty Book-Mojo. I have two pen names on the go in this one, so if you can check both, that would be ideal.
