Charlie’s newsletter

Hello all. Since I last posted one of these I’ve crossed into the Arctic circle, seen both a killer and pilot whales, trudged around in minus 18 degrees C (with wind chill on top) and – best of all – seen the Northern lights. On two successive nights! No wonder I’m still grinning from ear to ear.


I’m delighted to announce that All Lessons Learned is now available from Endeavour. Like the other books in the series, print versions are being rolled out alongside the kindle ones. There is also (early stages!) the possibility of audio books and large print versions.

Lessons in Chasing the Wild Goose goes live on Monday and there’ll be a print version at the same time. If the wind blows in the right direction.

I’ve been interviewed at Rainbow Gold Reviews, and am bearing gifts (backlist e-book). If you want to know what I wanted to do when I was younger or see the answers to their other cool questions (or enter the competition) do drop in.

It’s all been a bit mad in our genre recently, so am offering some light relief in the form of a short – and very silly – Cambridge Fellows story which was written by me and my mate Jaccers (huge cricket fan and all round good egg) many moons ago but which has been let out of the dungeon and dusted off. You can find it on my free fiction page, until the title “Twas but a dreame of thee”.

Orlando felt better once the room had stopped spinning, a habit it had taken to adopting whenever he had imbibed more than a pint of beer. He felt rather perturbed and not a little anxious; suddenly the relatively short distance between his bedroom and the bathroom seemed a void without measure. Sleep on the settee could be the solution, shortening the distance by half, but nightclothes were an impossibility (requiring an inordinate amount of co-ordination he didn’t possess at present) so he decided to sleep in his shirt and underwear. He knew his mother would have been horrified at anything so slovenly, but he elected to retain his vest as a small concession.
His fitful slumbers, uneasily reached as the pie sped around his alimentary canal, were ended by a rat-tat-tatting on his door. He knew who it would be, of course—only one person was quite so determined and such a bloody nuisance with it. It felt like three o’clock in the morning, but his eyes persuaded him that there was sufficient light to make it seven or eight, so murder of said pest would have to wait till another day when it would be more justified.
He opened the door with a gruff, “This had better be worthwhile, Jonty,” only to be stopped short by the vision he encountered.
Jonty was dressed in the most gorgeous red slashed velvet doublet that Orlando had ever seen. Not that he had seen that many, except in Elizabethan portraits. A vague memory of a discussion the night before about a Tudor themed day in the English department swam through the murky waters of his brain. Jonty had obviously obtained a spectacular costume—probably employing his mother’s influence—and was trying it out. In that it was proving a great success, making Orlando grow very hot under the collar. Only he seemed not to be wearing a collar, which was odd, given that he’d gone to sleep in his short without removing it.
“John, what a sight thou art! Did the ale not agree with thee? A pint or two more than was wise, sir?” A huge grin broke over Jonty’s face and he strode into the room, seating himself in front of the fire and poking it into life.
Orlando smiled at the period speech, even if he was disconcerted at being addressed by a different name. He was about to make a witty riposte when he noticed Jonty’s wig. A very authentic looking hairpiece, with long blonde locks that set off the man’s handsome features well and added to the Tudor appearance.
Two could play at this game.

And finally, the lights – not my picture but taken by the lads from GLOD explorers of the lights we saw from the ship.



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