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. 🙂
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.
Oh. My. Goodness. A huge plotbunny overwhelmed me this morning, just as I’m gearing up to write Book 2 of my space opera series this summer.
It’s about as far from science fiction as it could be. Fallen angels living and working on Earth, and possibly, probably, one of its main characters being a biromantic asexual Christian clergywoman of whichever denomination I settle on eventually.
It will continue on from – and definitely mine deeper into – the world of my first ever published book, Beauty and the Bastard, the rights for which returned to me some time ago.
This idea feels delicious. Delightfully dark urban fantasy with some deep theology, 25 years after I studied it. I’ll need to brush up on my eschatology, and more.
All that remains is to decide where it will fit into my to-be-written schedule. And then to write it. 🙂