It’s quiet here, but there’s some creating going on

Photo by Jaredd Craig

Just checked, and it’s been nearly a month since I posted here. Didn’t realise it was so long. Life is quiet here in Bridger Hollow. But as my title of this post says, there’s some creating going on. Quietly. Not fast. But it’s happening.

Three WIPs are underway: SPACE TRAIN 2; an urban fantasy novel with the working title DEMONS, which will incorporate my old novella BEAUTY AND THE BASTARD rewritten and somewhat re-imagined as the first of its three parts; and a historical novel I’m co-authoring with Debbie McGowan.

No big wordcounts are taking place. We’re talking hundred of words rather than thousands, to be honest, because my ME during this two-month-and-still-counting heatwave is poleaxing me every day. Real life effects of climate change on a chronically ill author.

Also to do is two, or possibly three, new books I need to lift from my hard drive and set free into the world. The first is an alien invasion SF novella; the second an epic eschatological Christian poem that is nothing like my normal produce but is close to my heart; and the third a collection of SFF short stories.

I think the collection mightn’t be ready for release until next year, but the first two will probably appear this autumn. Depending on my health and the fallout from various medical appointments I have looming on the horizon.

So that’s where I am. Here, as always. 🙂

On clocks and watches and the passing of time

Photo by Brooke-Campbell

When I left the navy, I took off my watch and let time lose track of me.

Okay, that’s got my pompous litfic-ish catchphrase (that I coined on that day and have never forgotten) out of the way. On with the post.

My friend Kari Trenten asked this on Facebook:

Random question while I research…do you like clocks? Do you enjoy old fashioned time pieces or do you carry around something modern to tell time with?

It’s a fine pair of questions, and her curiosity jogged my memories of something very dear to me.

All through my childhood, my favourite clock was my Nan and Grandad’s. It’s a Napoleon’s hat-shaped mantle clock of pale reddish-blond wood that used to chime pleasantly on the hour and give a part-chime every quarter hour too.

A hundred years old now, I should think, it had a lovely delicate tone. It was quite heavy, about ten inches across its base, maybe six inches high and four inches deep, and contained a fine working mechanism that no one was permitted to touch except Grandad.

It sits in my Mum’s house now. After some years of neglect, she had it renovated to keep time accurately, but decided not to have the chime fixed.

She knows it’s the only thing I want to inherit. My memories of Nan and Grandad’s home are a treasure. It was a sanctuary for me, that place, and the clock was always there. When it comes to me I will certainly have its chime restored.

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