Posts Tagged ‘naughty courner’

Hello Readers,

 

Here’s an updated copy of “Two Dead Boys”.

The corrections were done by a very good friend of mine.

There wasn’t was many as I thought there would be.

Enjoy

 

TWO DEAD BOYS

Preface

My name is Darryl and I am writing this account of the last few months while my memory is still fresh. I believe it happened despite everyone saying otherwise. I know it happened. I have the scar and death certificate to prove it.

 

You may think this a little fantastical and downright unbelievable but it is a one hundred per cent true.

 

I know.

 

I lived through it.

 

My doctors tell me it is my way of dealing with what happened, what they say happened, a nuclear station meltdown, but it is not. I escaped before the explosion. I had to. I had to tell others what happened but they think I am mad.

 

I will keep this detailed account safe and add to the paperwork I have and one day I will prove that I am in fact a walking dead man.

 

It is true. I have the proof.

 

 

 

Chapter One: The first weird thing

It all began during my senior year. We were two weeks in and everyone was already stressing about prom, graduation and exams.

 

Josh and I were raised together and always lived next door to each other. We were more like brothers than friends. We went to school together and our school was two towns over from the little collection of houses where we lived.

 

We lived on a small cluster of houses surrounded by farmland. Farmland our fathers worked on. Between the two families the houses held nearly twenty people including ailing relatives, parents, children, grandchildren and farm hands.

 

That day, the Tuesday, was the first day something strange happened.

 

On the farm there was an old storm/bomb shelter and the walls were nearly nine inch thick for protection. This is, word for word, what my dad told us when we got home from school.

 

“The dumb ass was acting all strange like it had been bitten and poison was slowly poisoning the body ,it was starting to go lame. Your Uncle Bill was trying to help, pretty much whilst we were trying to move the wretched donkey; it kicked out and caught Uncle Bill right in the eye, and propelled him through the storm shelter wall. By the time we got to him he was gone.” He relayed, fighting back the emotion, my father was the stoic type. “The doctor said he drowned from the blood in his lungs that had gotten there due to the damage caused by the fall.” He told us in horrific detail.

 

My father was always adamant that he would never hide anything from us no matter how horrific, much too both our mother’s dismay.

 

“What about the donkey?” I enquired.

 

“Put down,” he replied, his face stern and stoic. “It had been bitten; it was the best thing for him. He was old.” Dad explained and left the room, leaving Josh and I to digest what we had been told.

Not needed

The workmen were fixing the storm shelter but yet there was an odd quietness hanging over the farm.

 

It didn’t occur to us then how strange Uncle Bill’s death was. Not by a long shot.

 

Even the next two events didn’t cause us to think, our town was still smarting from the death too much to even think about it.

 

 

 

Chapter Two: Two Freaky Scenes

Luckily the next event didn’t involve a death but it was, shall we say, pretty damn strange.

 

At the school Josh and I went to there were a few, for want of a better word, handicapped students. Among them was a blind boy and a dumb girl. They were from a family that lived just down the dirt road from us and we often gave them a lift.

 

About a week after Uncle Bill’s death, Josh and I decided to do a few tricks on our skate boards but needed a referee. So we, I know it sounds strange, asked them to help us out. Julie, the dumb girl, agreed and Paul, her blind brother told us he would tell us what she was saying. They were twins which was always a source of amusement to us both.

 

Although she was mute Julie was incredibly pretty and the fact she didn’t speak was a plus for most of the guys at school, if you get what I’m saying.

 

Though she was pretty she was a thick as a post, she was also very, well, slow. She was in a special needs group but we didn’t hold that against her. She was a good laugh regardless of her shortcomings.

 

She watched as we did our tricks They sat in deep thought and then they started an odd type of conversation. After around ten minutes of showing off she told us, via Paul, that Josh was better than I. I was about to ask her why, though I knew it was because she fancied him, walked over to us. He was also dumb, a mute, never spoken once in his life.

Paul told me that I was good from what he heard, but Josh was just that little bit better.

 

As their father reached us he surprised us all by screaming “hooray,” at the top of his voice. It shocked us as we had always been told that he was physically incapable of speech.

 

My dad was close by and he heard it and it shocked him too. He came running over and asked us what had gone on.

 

When we explained the whole thing to him he just walked away and giggled as he went.

 

Paul and Julie left with their father. Between then and the explosion their father never said another word.

 

 

 

Chapter Three: Huhh?

The third event yet far from the strangest happened two days after we showed off for Paul and Julie. It also didn’t involve any horrific and twisted death, but oddly strange, none the less though it does involve an accidental death or two.

 

Josh and I had been driving around our semi-rural town, having a bit of fun and we ended up in our counties over grown cemetery near an old abandoned church and we started acting out battles we read about in history. Much like when we were younger.

 

For hours we played, pretending to shoot at each other, fighting and being typical teenagers. It was Saturday and unbeknown to us at the time the church was no longer abandoned. A new priest had moved in that week and he had, stupidly, called the police.

 

When the officer arrived we were shocked, we tried to explain, yet he completely ignored us. It was as though he couldn’t hear what we were saying.

 

Once we arrived at the police station, petrified of our parents finding out. We were processed and put into cells next to each other. We sat on the makeshift beds and we could hear the officer’s talking as the station wasn’t that big. One of the officers enquired, “Peter, why’d you arrest ‘em, they were only playin’. The priest is new in town. If they’d ‘ave known they’d ‘ave gone elsewere’s.” His drawl evident in every shortened word yet our arresting officer didn’t even register that he was being spoken to, he just continued writing up our arrest. “Peter, are you even listening to me?” he asked, his voice raised, nothing registered.

 

Another, more senior officer, one level under Chief of Police, joined the conversation and got the officers attention. “Peter, you can’t hear anything, can you?” Peter realised he was being spoken to yet his face showed he was completely puzzled.

 

The senior officer then told one of the others to take Peter to the hospital to get checked out and then released us with a stern warning to stay clear of the old church.

 

Driving home we knew we had a lucky escape and we were glad it wasn’t going on our permanent record with college so close.

 

Smiling we turned up the stereo and drove back to the farm. Driving the long, stretched out road was dull and boring and the day started to take its toll and I started to fall asleep, Josh was already asleep next to me, snoring loudly.

 

I jerked myself awake but it was too late. We were about to collide with a two foot wide fern tree. I had no chance of stopping the car as we were going too fast.

 

I saw the tree speeding towards me at over ninety miles an hour. The last thing I remember before a prolonged darkness was the tree in front of my face, so close that I could smell the sap and the muddy bark. Then there was just complete blackness and emptiness.

 

 

 

Chapter Four: Resurrection and realisation

The next thing I remember is waking up. I was in a coffin, I had been buried alive, that was the only answer, and it had to have been. I managed to bang my way out, pulling my way up and out. Once out I looked to my left and noticed a slightly banged up Josh next to me.

 

We looked at each other. A few cuts and marks but nothing too serious.

 

Then I saw the stiches visible under his dishevelled top and the look on his face told me I had them too. Looking closer I realised that it was in fact a Y incision, the type you see on the chests of the dead bodies on these crime dramas.

 

We had died in the accident! We were dead! Why the hell were we back? We weren’t zombies, we had too much control and awareness to be a zombie.

 

We headed to the farm. If anyone could help us figure it out, Dad could.

 

When the door was opened we were initially greeted by a continuous flow of women screaming and fainting. After they calmed down they hugged us and we sat down, we noticed a lack of appetite and I didn’t want to dwell on the reasons why.

 

We looked over at my dad who had looked as though he was expecting to see us and had been giggling the whole time whilst the others were screaming.

 

When the others left, the family, went back to bed and Dad began to explain what was humouring him.

 

“It’s all like that rhyme that you boys used to sing when you were kids.” He began, His face still showing an odd smirk. “Two dead boys got up to fight.” He reminded us. I recalled it instantly as did Josh. I looked at him and he looked at me and instantly realisation hit.

 

Everything that happened in the rhyme has happened with two exceptions, the first verse and the last line.

 

“That rhyme is about us! What happens if we complete it?” I ask, worried and concerned about the possible implications.

 

“I have no idea son,” Dad replied, his face contorted in worry, “The best thing is to complete it and see what happens.” He advises us. I had to say it made sense. He went to bed still chuckling to himself.

 

Josh and I thought about it and discussed it at length that night and saw no other way of ending this whole sorry affair.

 

Leaving the farm the following morning we grabbed two Civil War swords that grandpa had collected, and two of Uncle Bills pistols whilst Dad when to get Paul, the blind witness. All the while the women of our little family were hysterical and worried about the plan. They knew there was no way around it.

 

Chapter Five: First verse

We stood in the freshly ploughed cornfield. Swords glistening in the morning sun and pistols heavy. With one weapon in each hand we faced each other then flipped back to back.

 

Talking ten paces it dawned on me that I was about to hurt my best friend, my brother, not by blood but he was my brother none the less. How could I bring myself to do that?

 

I knew I had to. I knew it was necessary but it was still hard and painful to do.

 

As I finished my paces I turned around as fast as I could and emptied the old pistol into him as he did me.

 

There was no pain, no blood, there was just a gaping, puss riddled hole. It was as though we were still dead and our young attractive bodies were decomposing from under us.

 

Nothing happened. At first!!!!

 

Josh and I collected all the paperwork pertaining to our deaths and put them in a safe yet faraway place.

 

We started to go back to a normal life. Our bodies stopped decomposing and started going back to normal after we had our organs taken out of the bag they were in and put in their normal place.

 

Two months after, one of the girls at school started acting strange almost as though she was no longer alive. She was vacant, emotionless and then came the biting.

 

The ‘infection’ spread through our close network of towns like a wild forest fire. It infected men, women and children. They were all turned into brainless, emotionless creatures. They were adamant on making more.

 

At first we were worried that we had caused it but we couldn’t be sure. We talked about it. Our joint family had been turned and we were trapped in the nearby cattle pen. The barn seemed too obvious and had too many entrances in it.

 

The CDC wrote the area off as a biohazard and the governments did the unthinkable and sent in a small yield nuclear missile and ‘sanitised’ the area blaming it on a meltdown at the local power station.

 

 

 

Chapter Six: Escape

What they didn’t know was that I had escaped to a nearby infection free city.

 

My body was almost back to normal. The only thing that was missing was a beating heart.

 

I couldn’t let things be and started to tell anyone who would listen what happened and soon got myself committed to this hell hole mental asylum.

 

I am no longer living yet not yet dead. The doctors could not explain my lack of a pulse. Whenever they asked me I told them the story and they labelled me paranoid.

 

I was committed as they were sure I was completely insane, mental, mad, and barmy, they pretty much wrote me off.

 

None of the meds they have given me have had any effect on me whatsoever. None.

 

I know Josh was vaporised when the bomb hit. Everyone and everything was gone.

 

After a few months in this hell hole I began to notice signs of the infection in the hospital. It was just a few and I could be wrong and they could have been heavily medicated but if I’m right then we have a problem.

 

I don’t want to die but, if me living causes other people to die and not stay dead, what rights do I have to say my existence out weights theirs. If I spread the infection then I need to sort something out, but what? How can something no longer living actually die?

 

I have a lot to think about and this place is perfect I just wish they would leave me alone and stop telling me that I am crazy.

 

Only time will tell if I’m going to spread the infection until then I’ll hide here.

 

My blind witness, Paul, is still alive too. He was sent to a hospital two states over to get some respite and surgery before the explosion. Though he is now orphaned he is glad to be alive.

 

Before the ‘duel’ I asked my Dad what was wrong with Peter, the deaf police officer, the night Josh and I died. My Dad told me, “He had accidently discharged his weapon in the police cruiser and burst both of his ear drums making him completely deaf.

 

The rhyme had come true. I’m still living as is Paul, though for how long I don’t quite know.

 

* * * * * * * *

 

 

 

Chapter Seven: Dr’s analysis of Darryl Dorkings

 

 

Subject is paranoid and delusional.

 

His paranoia is based on his assumption that if anyone gets close to him they will contact some mystery illness that will turn them into zombie like cannibals.

 

His delusion is based around the idea that he is the walking dead, that he and his best friend came back from the dead to complete a child’s rhyme that is in fact a prophecy. He also claims his town and several near it were’ sanitized ‘by the government in order to prevent the spread of this mysterious infection.

 

Noteworthy Information

 

The subject has no pulse, needs no food or water and any/all drugs/poisons do not have any effect on him. He has no blood and feels no pain, heat or cold.

 

Experimental Outcomes

 

Cells show signs of infection with the same virus that killed his home town and resulted in their deaths. The virus is unique and holds the key to creating the world’s most perfect army and/or ideal weapon in biological warfare.

 

Subject is oblivious to the experiments we are running using the virus he is carrying, nor is aware that he is the subject of an intense biological study.

 

Subject will remain committed until such time as he and the other test subjects are no longer needed. At which point the area and those in it will be ‘sanitised’.

 

As for the link to the rhyme; yes it is there, I see it when he explains it in sessions. It puts a whole new spin on rhymes and poems and those that write them.

 

Personal note.

 

The subject is a walking petri dish and possibly slightly insane but I am drawn to him. I can’t explain it. I want to touch him so much it hurts and I don’t care if I get infected. I sometimes struggle to stop myself. I am not the only one. Several female staff and patients have voiced the same urge.

 

Dr Annetta Jones

 

BSc, Ma, PhD, Md

 

Psychiatrist, Molecular Biologist, Epidemiologist

 

Here’s a reminder of the version I used for the above tale. There are several different versions out there.

 

One fine day in the middle of the night,

Two dead boys got up to fight,

Back to back they faced each other,

Drew their swords and shot each other,

 

One was blind and the other couldn’t, see

So they chose a dummy for a referee.

A blind man went to see fair play,

A dumb man went to shout “hooray!”

 

A paralysed donkey passing by,

Kicked the blind man in the eye,

Knocked him through a nine inch wall,

Into a dry ditch and drowned them all,

 

A deaf policeman heard the noise,

And came to arrest the two dead boys,

If you don’t believe this story’s true,

Ask the blind man he saw it too!

 

Some of the fragmented sentences are on purpose.

 

Happy writing

 

Simone

 

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Hi there readers,

I’m sorry but this tale does, eventually, involve zombies, I hope you like it.

This is to wet your appetite, I have mentioned that I am working on the tale about two dead boys based on the poem/rhyme below.

 

One fine day in the middle of the night,

Two dead boys* got up to fight, [*or men]

Back to back they faced each other,

Drew their swords and shot each other,

One was blind and the other couldn’t, see

So they chose a dummy for a referee.

A blind man went to see fair play,

A dumb man went to shout “hooray!”

A paralysed donkey passing by,

Kicked the blind man in the eye,

Knocked him through a nine inch wall,

Into a dry ditch and drowned them all,

A deaf policeman heard the noise,

And came to arrest the two dead boys,

If you don’t believe this story’s true,

Ask the blind man he saw it too!

And the tale I have written, it’s only short, results in the beginning of the apocalypse.

Enjoy.

Simone

I am at my volunteer job and working hard on a set of photo’s for an exhibition about Ekphrasis in which Sandra, a good friend of mine and my self are being exhibited.

I have chosen several pictures for the event and I hope they are approved. If you ever get the chance get involved in Ekphrasis do it.

It is a strange concept to begin with but it soon pays dividends and works to your advantage.

I enjoy it. I still use it and can’t wait for the exhibition and to see how things go. I have been asked to take pictures of the event and I can not wait. It is the same day of my test for my Level 2 English and then I can maybe start my level 3.

Apologies about being absent, the wedding and writing has taken over.

Stay Tuned

Simone

Hi,

Hope you’re all well.

I am currently working on several project at the moment with various people and various tales.

I may have a model for my new tale which is Stir of Echo’s meets the Grudge with my twisted little take on it.

A tale of a woman hell-bent of tearing the men who killed her apart.

There is also a murder mystery horror which should be good, really good. I can’t wait for mine n the hubby’s office to be sorted then I can knuckle down, get book one out there and book two finished.

Happy Writing

Simone

Hello Readers,

I am glad so many of you liked the interview I did with Rebecca Hamilton. She is such a nice person and her skills as a writer are eminence. I have to say with her busy home life I am so surprised she had time for everything else but she is publishing a sequel to Forever Girl later this year. I hope.

I am at college again and I have found I have just six classes before my exam and qualification :(. But on the plus side I am currently looking into getting my leve 3 in English Language, with a bit of luck I will be able to get it free as money is a little bit tight. Level 3 is the equivalent of an A level. I hope I can manage it while getting various books ready for print.

I have also designed my business cards and I am currently looking into doing a booklet of stories, poems and flash fictions for sale in the York Area. All the while I am trying to organise a wedding, sort out a house, find a job and chase doctors for a diagnosis for the condition that plagues me so much.

I currently have a to-do list a mile long and for all of the above things. after college i need to head home and put up some shelves, start tea and such.

I also need to get hold of Microsoft office publisher, without spending too much money. I may have a way of doing it. We’ll just wait on that one. I need to have a word with a good friend of mine.

Happy Writing

Simone

Hello fellow writers

I feel so cross with my self. I’ve not been on for so long, namely due to the work involved in moving. Packing stuff in so many places is hard work. Were taking a trip to my mums on Thurdsday, to pack the stuff we have there.

I do have some posts writen, I just need to Type them up which I will try and do that this afternoon.

We hope to get the keys for the house this week.  Everythings all go for me at the minuite. Busy bee. Lets not forget all the wedding planing, giving notice on Wednesday. then I have a Job interview next Tuesday, one I hope I have a really good chance of getting the job , it’s part time, NHS. Keep your fingers crossed for me

I’ve not heard from back from my e-mail to the agent yet, may get the other e-mail/letter sorted.

Busy, am I ever anything but.

Happy Writing

Simone

Hello writers,

As promised here’s a few tips on character development. The more you know about your character the better but do not get bogged dow with the intimate details of all major and minor characters. The best thing to do is not name the minor characters unless you have to. But you need know as much as you can about you main characters as possible.

Again we will use my blog story (I know, I will repost chapter one soon, really soon) “Teenage Visions”. All the main characters are introduced in a manner in the first chapter.

Main character: Jennifer Jennings

Best Friend: Laurie Legger

Father: Peter Jenning

Mother: Martha Jenning

Stepmother: Sara Jenning

Half brother: Seth Jenning

Creative Writing Teacher: Mr Sholts

Nurse: Samantha White.

Now all these characters are important as the tale develops, even the dead mother . All other characters are refered to in a descriptive manner such as “Jock boy” or “Skiny Girl” etc. This is so the reader gets and idea of their look and behaviour and develop it in their own mind.

Now back to the character you names, these are the ones you need to know the best. I do have a character analysis work sheet however I can not post it as it i found it in a book so it will infringe upon copyright laws. I have found this one however,    http://www.eclectics.com/articles/character.html. Yes you really do need to know all this about your characters this is for two reasons.

1/ continuity: if you write in the character chart that they are introvert and shy. you will have a reminder and will reframe from putting that character at the centre of attention it is also things such as eye colour, hair colour, etc.

2/ It help’s you understand them, write them and gage their reactions better and their interactions. People are not 2 dimensional, we are complicated. Fictional people are also. They have a history, bad memories, etc.

Before you fill in the character sheet you have to make a few decisions namely, what they look like. A lot of authors, me included, use the faces of famous people. Shockingly true. Stephanie Meyer did it when she write the “Twilight Saga”. The case she envisioned was different from the one in the films with one exception, I believe, Jordelle Ferland, who was cast in the role of Bree Tanner. A small character that, some how, developed a life of its own. Something they often do.

I use actor, singer, people in the public eye, others we people they know people just imagine them and stick to that mental picture. Which ever way is best for you. Do it. It will only help in the long run.

Once you have your plan (covered in a previous post) and your characters sheet, you are ready.

Happy Writing

Simone

Hello Writers

Another early morning where i am wide awake. Partially pain, partially over active mind. I have been looking over the last few weeks and realised a few things.

1/ the posts that get the better readers are the How to’s and the small fictions.

2/ I really need to post on a daily basis.

Well good news.

I have around four posts I am in the process of writing to put up on here for you guys. Most are how to;s and information, there are others that are in my mind, fermenting, that are small fictions.

I am also going to, I know I’ve said this so many times, post up the revised fist chapter of “Teenage Visions”. I am also using it with all the how to’s i am doing so don’t you go nicking my idea. **Giggle**

I have also joined Pintest but I am still finding my way around it at the moment. Will let you know how I get on.

I am also trying to work on the cover for “Twisted Coven”. A long long process. I have sent one contact off, more to go out. Just trying to balance that, the wedding plans and so many other things.

Stay tuned, there’s some cool stuff coming.

Simone

Hello,

Here is a little bit of fiction for you. Enjoy.

Drip, drip, drip, drip. The water leaked through the small hole in the roff, dripping loudly in the pan. A drip that echoed throughout the large house.

Paula, internally cursed her self for the open plan of the house. She knew in id moments she would be fast asleep and the drip would no longer be heard by her young ears.

As the drugs took effect she slowly drifted to sleep the pain, forgotten, the drip, forgotten. She slumbered with a smile on her face.

She was out, her medication, strong enough to knock her out, completely, racing through her small, crumpled pain ridden body. So deep in sleep she was when the equally youthful man climbed through the window and sat at the edge of her bed. His face scared from glass or possibly acne. He held her hand, his hands clad in leather gloves.

He checked her out. Her limbs still covered in bandages from the burns and cuts . Her torso wrapped up like a child on Christmas morning in Alaska. The burn where every where except her beautiful face.

A tear fell down his face as he shifted his gaze to the pill bottles and boxes on the side table. Pain meds, antibiotics, antivirals, antidepressants, sleeping, vitamin tablets, tablets for everything.

“I am so sorry,” he suddenly whispers to her, “I should never have taken you out when I was drunk.”

He looked down at her perfectly shaped face, her heart-shaped lips and his eyes leaked, one more.

Dropping her hand he felt he was being watched. he feared her father. As he stood and turned in the same move he froze, his face filled and frozen with terror. She stood before him.

No burns, no bandages, no pain filling her beautiful ocean blue eyes. The eyes instead, were filled with anger so intense he could feel it from the impossible figure in front of him and her sleeping body to his right.

His face, controlled with terror, refusing to move as she walked forward until she was a mere inch away from him. He heard her voice, though neither set of lips move. “I have been waiting for your visit. You couldn’t stay away. You caused this, you caused my body to be battered and bruised.” Smiling she knew he knew that sorry is clearly not enough. He began to flex his left hand and then, seconds later the right hand-held the left arm.

His face, still holding the terror, now controlled in pain as he dropped to his knees, he looked up at his beautiful girl friend who conscious apparitions face was twisted into a vindictive smile. On he his knees, gripping his chest he tried to call out with no joy. Nothing left no voice or oxygen, she stood and watched as the life slowly drained from the heart attack ridden body. Her smile twisting her beautiful face into a twisted  version of itself.

She looked at her own sleeping body and within moments the machine to its right beeped marking the death of the young girl. Her father came rushing in and tried, in vain, to bring her back but he soon gave up. He knew she didn’t want to suffer any more.

He only found the body of the man responsable  at the other side of the bed several moments mater.

A smile spread across his face, his grief momentarily forgotten as he said to himself, “That’s my girl,” he said out loud, giggling slightly as he did.

She had her vengeance and now she would rest in peace. She always loved, disappearing, even though she was not visible to her father, her spirit never walked those floors again. She was happy, she died with a smile on her face.

Never again would someone drink drive again in the area. She became  a warning, drink drive and you will see her and feel her wrath.

Happy Writing

Simone

Hello Fellow Writers

As I sit here, wondering if I should write, do some submission stuff, research or just procrastinate and mess about on face book I suddenly realise several things.

Firstly that I should be proud that my first novel is complete and ready for publication. Those of you that are copy editors my disagree and the same with the proofreader’s but from what I can do it is done. I am happy with the story, with the characters and with the subtext. Though I am tempted to add more subtext in placed, I feel that if I do I will make the story more complicated and confuse the character with information that may never come to light. There is one thing I will add which is near the end.  It is a carefully placed sentence that makes the name of the Saga make complete sense.

Secondly I have unwillingly and unknowingly contributed to the negative view of the Pagan religion, not something I want to do, being pagan myself I know how detrimental this can be. Hopefully book two and three will redeem me in the eyes of my fellow Pagans.

Thirdly, it is one hell of an achievement, people often say “I’m going to write a book and it will be great!” I actually have written a book, with several more in the making, and I have every intention to get it printed.

Being a fiction/thriller/suspense writer I feel it would be in my best interest to have an agent. I am not a business woman nor am I a lawyer. I need someone to help me deal with the business and help me deal with the paperwork and such that it involves. I have worked in the privet business  and in sales and though I was good at both I would not view them as worthy while experience for me to pitch an English author writing a story based in Washington State, Walla Walla county. I have changed the name of the town, but not the county. It makes it so much easier when dealing with distances and such.

Now is just the task of finding an agent, one I get on with and one who will have my best interests at heart. A rare thing when money is involved but let’s just hope I managed to find a good one and that the book does well. I really hope it does.