I'd hoped to have it ready to catch the Ghost Story for Christmas market. Ghost Story for Sometime Around Easter doesn't really have the same ring to it. Still, it was great fun writing it and now comes all the boring stuff like editing, proof reading, coming up with a blurb etc.
I'm still not sure what my next project's going to be. I've started a detective novel set during the reign of Richard III, but the scope of the research, let alone finding time to write is a bit daunting now that I'm back to working full-time and some more. The other alternative, depending on how well Bomber Boys goes, is to write another ghost story.
Here's the first couple of paragraphs. Hope this short excerpt whets your appetite...
Chapter One
My eyesight is fading – just like the rest
of me. Darkness is closing in, its fingers pulling me ever deeper; so deep that
no one will ever see or hear me again. Even writing these words is draining
what little strength remains to me. No more access to a computer, just the
agony of pushing a pencil stub across the pages of yet another exercise book.
How many books on the pile now? Too many to count, but the fact that you are
reading this means that someone has found and transcribed what I have written.
Too late for me of course, but at least the truth will now be told. Not just my
story – my passing won’t even make the footnotes of history – but the story of men
who died for something they cared about, something that those who came after
seem to have forgotten.
If this sounds like talking in riddles I quite understand. A few months
ago I would have felt the same way. Logic, common sense and science tell us
such things cannot happen. That’s what I thought too, until it happened to me.
Let me explain so that you can avoid my fate.
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