Newsletter one hundred and three
May. 9th, 2014 12:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
charlie_cochraneThe joint 100th party went well. Next big Cochrane event on the horizon is Heineken Cup final and my beloved Saracens (who I’ve supported for forty years) will be in it. I shall be a nervous wreck.
News
Don’t forget that Cheyenne closes its doors at the end of this month, so if you want a copy of Home Fires Burning, Lessons for Survivors, or Lessons for Suspicious minds, buy them now or you’ll have to wait for relaunch.
Second Helpings is available on discounted pre-order at Riptide. Love that cover art. Here’s an exclusive, mid-edit snippet:
Paul Franklin sat in the coffee shop, agitatedly watching the Sunday morning world go by and wondering why England had been taken over by these places. Even the smallest town seemed to sport half a dozen of them, and while pubs had closed left, right, and centre during the time he’d been away in the States on business, cafes were doing a roaring trade.
He wasn’t keen on coffee shops in general, but as the phone people were repairing whatever they’d done to bugger up his home phone line, he needed to use the coffee house’s free wi-fi. And, as troubles never did come single spies, his smart phone had died and the cheap Nokia job he was using—while he waited for his company to drum up a replacement—was too prehistoric to get the internet.
Why the hell did God, luck, the universe, or whatever it was that seemed to be trying to cut him off from the rest of the world, want to make his life such a nightmare? He could have gone to his mother’s house early, of course, and logged into her hub, but there were some things he wanted to tackle without anybody else around.
“Having trouble connecting?” A purring female voice made him look up so sharply he nearly spilled his drink. The waitress. Trying to be helpful or trying to flirt—either was unwelcome.,
“No, it’s fine. Just being a bit slow.” He got his head down over the laptop again. Plenty of stuff in his inbox, but none of it from Ben. No texts, either, but then it had only been ten minutes since he’d last checked. One from his mother making sure he was still on for lunch.
Time was, things wouldn’t have been so relaxed between them. He’d been a bit of a disappointment to his mother on several fronts, on several occasions, but now the initially uneasy truce had developed into something easier and more positive. So many things had changed when Dad died.
He batted back a quick confirmation, then turned his attention to the laptop again. Why the hell did Ben Hewitt have to be such a techno-Neanderthal? Paul had never known anyone with less of an internet footprint. No Facebook. No Blog. Bit of Twitter, but he hadn’t tweeted anything in weeks, not even a response to the semi-frantic direct message Paul had left.
Inspiration
Has to be rugby boys.
News
Don’t forget that Cheyenne closes its doors at the end of this month, so if you want a copy of Home Fires Burning, Lessons for Survivors, or Lessons for Suspicious minds, buy them now or you’ll have to wait for relaunch.
Second Helpings is available on discounted pre-order at Riptide. Love that cover art. Here’s an exclusive, mid-edit snippet:
Paul Franklin sat in the coffee shop, agitatedly watching the Sunday morning world go by and wondering why England had been taken over by these places. Even the smallest town seemed to sport half a dozen of them, and while pubs had closed left, right, and centre during the time he’d been away in the States on business, cafes were doing a roaring trade.
He wasn’t keen on coffee shops in general, but as the phone people were repairing whatever they’d done to bugger up his home phone line, he needed to use the coffee house’s free wi-fi. And, as troubles never did come single spies, his smart phone had died and the cheap Nokia job he was using—while he waited for his company to drum up a replacement—was too prehistoric to get the internet.
Why the hell did God, luck, the universe, or whatever it was that seemed to be trying to cut him off from the rest of the world, want to make his life such a nightmare? He could have gone to his mother’s house early, of course, and logged into her hub, but there were some things he wanted to tackle without anybody else around.
“Having trouble connecting?” A purring female voice made him look up so sharply he nearly spilled his drink. The waitress. Trying to be helpful or trying to flirt—either was unwelcome.,
“No, it’s fine. Just being a bit slow.” He got his head down over the laptop again. Plenty of stuff in his inbox, but none of it from Ben. No texts, either, but then it had only been ten minutes since he’d last checked. One from his mother making sure he was still on for lunch.
Time was, things wouldn’t have been so relaxed between them. He’d been a bit of a disappointment to his mother on several fronts, on several occasions, but now the initially uneasy truce had developed into something easier and more positive. So many things had changed when Dad died.
He batted back a quick confirmation, then turned his attention to the laptop again. Why the hell did Ben Hewitt have to be such a techno-Neanderthal? Paul had never known anyone with less of an internet footprint. No Facebook. No Blog. Bit of Twitter, but he hadn’t tweeted anything in weeks, not even a response to the semi-frantic direct message Paul had left.
Inspiration
Has to be rugby boys.
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Date: 2014-05-09 03:17 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2014-05-09 07:18 pm (UTC)