Newsletter 172

Is it really a fortnight since I sent out the last of these? We’ve had my nephew’s wedding since then and just completed a university pick up run so tempus has been fugiting all round, as one might say. The clocks have gone forward so it’s gloriously light in the evenings and the birds are singing fit to burst!

News

In The Spotlight” is out now, with another rash of blog visits due this week. Last of the blog posts sent out so now I can start to get my mind round the next set of posts, those for the “Broke Deep”  blog tour. It’s all go, isn’t it? 

I often get asked what I’m working on at present, so:

  • Doing the second draft on a Cambridge Fellows short story which I’m doing to celebrate the projected relaunch of the first books in the series (more news when I’m allowed to talk about it!)
  • Writing a birthday story for a mate, one featuring a were-glyptodont. (Mad? Me? What makes you think so?)
  • Updating “Sollicito”, my weresloth story, to send out with the next newsletter, along with some more about those sloth shifter boys.  

Blast from the past! It’s been a while since I did one of these but I used to regularly feature an older story, so here’s a snippet of my first story with Carina, “Dreams of a Hero”.  

Excerpt (featuring the dream itself!)

The shield was tall and heavy, but the bearer was taller still. This gave little advantage when it meant he could get such a clear view of the advancing lines of troops. Miles adjusted his stance for comfort, staring oncoming death in the eye. “Which one is he?”
“The small one, that’s what they say.” Roger held the spear straight, never wavering even in the heat of impending battle. “Word is he’ll be leading the cavalry, away from where his father’s stationed.”
“Can’t have two firebrands together in case the whole world catches flame?”  Miles managed a rueful smile. “They say he’s handsome, the son.”
“And spoken for.” The smile was returned.
“I only said he was rumoured to be handsome, not that I wanted him to carry me off to his tent.” Miles adjusted his stance again, eliminating any chink in the shield wall.
“You might be grateful if that were your fate, come nightfall.” Roger shivered. “I  pray we’ll survive to joke about this. Now comes the deluge.”
“Deluge? Don’t you mean the conflagration, with the son of fire at its head? And with Hades’ gates wide open in his wake.”
The company turned slightly, as the horses came charging over the plain of Chaeronea.
Miles woke with a start.
 

And finally, some snaps from last weekend.

 

Charlie

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