Newsletter one hundred and two
Apr. 25th, 2014 01:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
charlie_cochraneGreat fun chez Cochrane tonight when we’re off out for a joint 100th birthday party. (Add the ages of me, my Sally and Cathy’s boyfriend, all of whom had birthday in March! Matt is 49, of course...)
News
As promised last time, I can now confirm that there will be two new Cambridge Fellows books next year, plus a relaunch of books 9 and 10, all with Riptide. I’m a bit of a Riptide groupie at present, as I’ve got a novella coming out with them in July and a full length contemporary cosy romantic mystery later this year.
Hull up on the horizon I’m running a workshop on the pitfalls of being published, at Coffee Time Romance, May 12th to 14th, then on May 18th I’m at the Young Writers Conference doing a workshop on what to do with misbehaving characters. On May 19th I’ll be breaking out a bottle of Chenin BLanc.
Here’s a snippet of the unfinished mss for Book 11 of the Cambridge Fellows series. Lessons for...(to be decided!)
“I think it’s the superstition itself that brings bad luck, like it probably does on Friday the thirteenth,” Jonty said, belligerently. “All those people looking over their shoulders, worrying about the slightest little thing, it’s bound to make something daft happen, isn’t it? Maybe all the little mishaps which occur every day of the week get counted that particular Friday, in the same way as they might be counted when someone’s walked under a ladder. And maybe exactly the same mishaps would be endured and ignored if they happened on Tuesday the twenty first or after the person concerned had gone round the ladder in question.”
“Excellent point.” Mr. Stewart nodded. “Like so many things, it’s all in the mind. It must go back to the last supper, of course,” he continued, going into theological vein, at which point Jonty switched onto automatic mode, nodding and saying, “Oh, yes, I see,” and taking little notice. It tended to be the most effective strategy when being lectured, especially if it was Orlando twittering on about vectors or random numbers or some such nonsense.
The last supper—yes, well he’d always suspected there’d been more people milling about than had been reported in the gospels. And hadn’t Judas gone sneaking off at some point to leave just the twelve, which made the unlucky number thing all a bit illogical? Whatever the reason behind it, the thing was just bloody stupid.
“I said, ‘wouldn’t you agree’, Jonathan?”
“Absolutely,” Jonty said, nodding enthusiastically. He hadn’t actually heard the question, but—statistically, as Orlando would appreciate—there was a ninety per cent chance that it was safest just to agree with whatever his mama had said, and the use of his full name would raise that number to ninety nine per cent.
“I was saying that I shouldn’t feel cross at Dr. Roberts having let us down at the last minute,” Mrs. Stewart continued, in a manner which suggested she was perfectly aware that her youngest son hadn’t been listening. “I’m sure he didn’t intend his appendix to explode or whatever appendixes do to themselves to mean they have to be removed immediately.”
“Of course he didn’t. He was mid consultation when he just keeled over, face like a ghost. I thought he’d died.” Mr. Stewart, who had been having his annual check—servicing his engine, as he described it—at the time, had been witness to it all, and had called for an ambulance, the physician in question clearly not being able to heal himself.
“I’ve sent him flowers,” Mrs. Stewart said, with a helpless gesture, “but they won’t help to rustle up a guest for tonight at the last moment. I suppose we’ll have to find somebody to draft in.”
“At the eleventh hour, Helena?” Mr. Stewart, who’d been momentarily distracted by a piece of fluff on his cuff, looked up, horrified. “If you invite somebody else at the last minute won’t the lateness of the invitation stick out like a sore thumb? It screams insult.”
Inspiration
With Greg Rutherford breaking the British long jump record yesterday, it has to be Olympic Park. Was it really two years ago?
News
As promised last time, I can now confirm that there will be two new Cambridge Fellows books next year, plus a relaunch of books 9 and 10, all with Riptide. I’m a bit of a Riptide groupie at present, as I’ve got a novella coming out with them in July and a full length contemporary cosy romantic mystery later this year.
Hull up on the horizon I’m running a workshop on the pitfalls of being published, at Coffee Time Romance, May 12th to 14th, then on May 18th I’m at the Young Writers Conference doing a workshop on what to do with misbehaving characters. On May 19th I’ll be breaking out a bottle of Chenin BLanc.
Here’s a snippet of the unfinished mss for Book 11 of the Cambridge Fellows series. Lessons for...(to be decided!)
“I think it’s the superstition itself that brings bad luck, like it probably does on Friday the thirteenth,” Jonty said, belligerently. “All those people looking over their shoulders, worrying about the slightest little thing, it’s bound to make something daft happen, isn’t it? Maybe all the little mishaps which occur every day of the week get counted that particular Friday, in the same way as they might be counted when someone’s walked under a ladder. And maybe exactly the same mishaps would be endured and ignored if they happened on Tuesday the twenty first or after the person concerned had gone round the ladder in question.”
“Excellent point.” Mr. Stewart nodded. “Like so many things, it’s all in the mind. It must go back to the last supper, of course,” he continued, going into theological vein, at which point Jonty switched onto automatic mode, nodding and saying, “Oh, yes, I see,” and taking little notice. It tended to be the most effective strategy when being lectured, especially if it was Orlando twittering on about vectors or random numbers or some such nonsense.
The last supper—yes, well he’d always suspected there’d been more people milling about than had been reported in the gospels. And hadn’t Judas gone sneaking off at some point to leave just the twelve, which made the unlucky number thing all a bit illogical? Whatever the reason behind it, the thing was just bloody stupid.
“I said, ‘wouldn’t you agree’, Jonathan?”
“Absolutely,” Jonty said, nodding enthusiastically. He hadn’t actually heard the question, but—statistically, as Orlando would appreciate—there was a ninety per cent chance that it was safest just to agree with whatever his mama had said, and the use of his full name would raise that number to ninety nine per cent.
“I was saying that I shouldn’t feel cross at Dr. Roberts having let us down at the last minute,” Mrs. Stewart continued, in a manner which suggested she was perfectly aware that her youngest son hadn’t been listening. “I’m sure he didn’t intend his appendix to explode or whatever appendixes do to themselves to mean they have to be removed immediately.”
“Of course he didn’t. He was mid consultation when he just keeled over, face like a ghost. I thought he’d died.” Mr. Stewart, who had been having his annual check—servicing his engine, as he described it—at the time, had been witness to it all, and had called for an ambulance, the physician in question clearly not being able to heal himself.
“I’ve sent him flowers,” Mrs. Stewart said, with a helpless gesture, “but they won’t help to rustle up a guest for tonight at the last moment. I suppose we’ll have to find somebody to draft in.”
“At the eleventh hour, Helena?” Mr. Stewart, who’d been momentarily distracted by a piece of fluff on his cuff, looked up, horrified. “If you invite somebody else at the last minute won’t the lateness of the invitation stick out like a sore thumb? It screams insult.”
Inspiration
With Greg Rutherford breaking the British long jump record yesterday, it has to be Olympic Park. Was it really two years ago?
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2014-04-25 01:38 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2014-04-25 02:04 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2014-04-25 02:48 pm (UTC)And this little snip makes me eager to see his parents again.
(no subject)
Date: 2014-04-25 02:58 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2014-04-26 02:47 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2014-04-26 09:50 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2014-05-04 08:30 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2014-05-05 10:16 am (UTC)