This seasonal edition of my newsletter has to begin by wishing you all the merriest Christmas possible and a truly blessed 2020. May you each receive what you want and may it turn out to be as good as anticipated.
NewsI’ve been working hard over the edits of the next Lindenshaw book – A Carriage of Misjustice, but that’s not what I want to focus on today. Christmas is the time for giving, so I wanted to make sure you were up to date with all the seasonal free stories (short and longer) that I’ve done in the last few years and which don’t pop up on my free stories page.
Last year had the short but silly
Jonty’s Christmas dilemma, where our hero dithers over what to buy Orlando as a present.
On a more serious – but still romantic – note, there’s a story about the shepherds in the nativity story, only not quite as the gospel has it.
Goodwill to all Men is one of my favourite short stories that I’ve written.
I’ve taken part on the
Rainbow Advent Calendar the last few years. My 2017 offering,
Got Mittens, features the 1914 Christmas Truce and an unexpected reunion post war.
Last year, inspired by our first ever cruise, I wrote a story called – yes, cliché alert –
Cruising. It featured the Northern Lights which it has always been my ambition to see and which I managed during our trip to Norway. The strange set of events in this story that lead up to seeing the
aurora are based on our experiences.
This year I’ve gone for an adventure for my two actor laddies from
An Act of Detection. They’re taking on an investigation on behalf of a thinly disguised WWII mathematical genius in
The Case of the Forgetful Genius.
Here’s an excerpt from it:
Toby’s words proved prophetic—if on the exaggerated side—though not until rehearsals were well under way. They should have known, Alasdair reflected afterwards, that the peculiar way one of the chorus boys kept looking at them signified something, although they’d assumed it was because he fancied one or both actors: that wasn’t unusual in their experience. What was unusual was the appeal when it came. Not a pass, which was just as well, given that it happened on the pavement outside the theatre, but a plea.
“Sorry to bother you, but Johnny Fisher says you’re just the men for solving a puzzle.” The chorus boy—Freddy, Alasdair had heard him called—had taken off his hat, turning it nervously in his hands.
“We’ve certainly helped solve one for him in the past,” Toby replied, with a smile. “Although I’d say it was more a case of good luck combining with whatever brains we possess.”
Alasdair admired the way his partner had been friendly without actually offering to help. They were both busy, with the pantomime on the horizon and a new film going into production in the new year. Still, a mystery was a mystery and neither of them had regretted the two they’d been involved in solving previously.
“You see,” Freddy continued, “it’s on behalf of a pal of mine. Frighteningly bright chap. Probably involved with hush-hush stuff during the war given it was a bit
all I can tell you is that I can’t tell you.”
“If he’s that clever, can’t he solve his own puzzle?” Alasdair asked.
Freddy, laughing, shook his head. “Alas, no. Thing is, he’s got a brain the size of St. Paul’s dome, but he doesn’t have the common sense of a kipper.”
“I’ve known a few like that,” Toby admitted. “Fine with the abstruse and the theoretical, construction of the universe and all that, but give them some practical problem that the average charlady could sort out without breaking sweat and they’re lost.”
“Exactly. That sounds just like Andrew. He’s put something in safe keeping and now he can’t find it again.”
Alasdair and Toby shared intrigued glances.
“I think,” Toby took both of their arms, “that this is a story we need to hear. Let’s find a bar with a quiet corner. Not that we promise we can do anything.”
“No, I understand that,” Freddy said, as they started off walking. “I appreciate that you’ll take the time to listen. It’s an odd tale.”
“That’s exactly what we’re hoping, eh, Alasdair?”
“Indeed, Toby. Something more than elementary.” Ignoring the heavy nudge from his very own “Watson” that the remark produced, Alasdair picked up the pace. A pint of beer and a puzzle were waiting.
And finally – one of the four (count em!) frogs on our tree echoes my wishes for you to have a great Christmas.
Charlie
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