Sunday, August 7, 2016
Firstly, Scenes of Mild Peril - my next short story collection - is very nearly complete. Just working on the final edits and I'll be organising a release date for it. I'm incredibly happy with how it's turned out and I think it contains some of my strongest work - I'm really excited for this one.
Secondly, my first novel - Version Control - is now complete and I'm in the process of trying to find a home for it.. More information to be released if - and when - there is any.
Thirdly, I'm just working on the final chapters of my new science fiction novella "Recreant". I've kept relatively quiet about this one because the aforementioned drought nearly put paid to it, but it's turned out to be something I'm very happy with. It's also going down very well with the beta readers, which is always reassuring. I'll do a separate post about this when I've finished the first draft. 40,000 words down with 10,000 to go.!
Last (but most definitely far from least) The Big Comfy Bookshop is having a literature festival on the 9th, 10th and 11th of September. I'm on a panel of local writers with Elizabeth Earle and Kerry Hadley-Pryce on Saturday the 10th, and it'd be great if you could come along. I'll hopefully have some copies of Scenes of Mild Peril to flog to you :) For those of you on the mystical book of faces, here's a handy link.
Farage skipped down the corridor with a spring in his step, the disgruntled booing of European parliament delegates fading into the distance now. Taking a few looks around himself to make sure he wasn’t being followed, he ducked into the gent’s toilets, undoing his tie as he did so. That felt so much better.
Confident that he was alone, he let out a sigh of relief that he’d been holding deep inside for the past seventeen years. He threw some water over his face, took a deep breath, and waited. And waited.
“Why hasn’t it happened yet?” he muttered, staring down at his hands. His Nigel Farage hands. “I got the UK out of the European Union, just as I was supposed to. I’m supposed to have…”
“There’s been a problem, Sam”, came a guilty voice from behind him.
Nigel span round to be confronted by his old friend Al, dressed in a shirt far more garish than any he’d worn previously.
“What do you mean, a problem? I’ve been stuck here for nearly two decades now, and you assured me that…”
“Hey, don’t blame me, Sam! I’m just the guy who passes on the information.” He angrily slapped the handset that he used to communicate with the hybrid super-computer Ziggy against his side. It beeped noisily in complaint.
“I think there’s been what Ziggy called a hyper-quantum catastrophe. Turns out that doing this ushers in something of a second dark age.”
Al squinted at the results on the handheld device and shook his head, sorrowfully.
"It’s not looking good, Sam.”
“Jesus, Al. Why didn’t you tell me? If the experts had warned me about this, I would have done something different! I’d have done anything to avoid this! Can you not bring me back and we’ll try again?”
“I’m afraid not, Sam. All knock on effects from the dark age. I don’t have long - just me being here is a paradox that’ll shortly resolve itself. The finances that would have been used to fund the quantum accelerator in the New Mexico lab went on building a wall. You’re stuck here – best just get on as best you can.”
Farage looked down at his feet, despondent. “Oh boy.”