Chicken Licken, Henny Penny and Goosey Loosey were enjoying an early breakfast in the woods when a twig came loose from an overhead tree and fell to earth, striking Chicken Licken square on the noggin.
"Aaah!" cried Chicken Licken. "The sky is falling in. We must go and warn the King."
"Elvis is dead, son," Goosey Loosey told him. "Let it go."
Henny Penny frowned at the two of them. "Look, Chicken Licken, we've been through this before. The sky isn't really falling in."
In the distance there was a loud bang.
"See!" exclaimed Chicken Licken. "There it is! There it is!"
Henny Penny opened her beak to reassure the little one but was cut off as a smoking tortoiseshell crashed through the trees and embedded itself in her breakfast.
"Stuff telling the king," said Goosey Loosey as a decidedly charred sausage on a toasting fork dropped out of the sky and landed beside him. "I'm on the first ethereal plane out of here!"
Monday, 16 July 2012
Sunday, 15 July 2012
Chapter 1.3
Down below the two policemen, Sister Em was indeed starting the fun. Throwing back her head, she raised her hands to the sky and cried to the heavens. “See us, Pan, from the ethereal plane, as we parade in your pasture and usher in your dawn!”
Following Em’s declaration, the twelve followers of Pan began to circle the fire, arms raised skywards. The only exception was Brother Duncan. He continued his musical accompaniment on the panpipes, tightly gripping them in both hands lest he got caught by a flailing elbow of Sister Em in front of him, who was prone to a bit of freestyle spinning when caught up in the spirit of the occasion.
Behind him, Brother Patrick, who was both easily distracted and rather high on marijuana, considered how great it would be to have an ethereal plane. Then he wondered how you would land one without breaking your legs.
Before he could worry about how an ethereal plane could carry you in the first place, Patrick was counter-distracted when, after one and a half revolutions, Anthony cried out and started hopping about on his left foot whilst clutching at the toes on his right.
The others looked at each other and exchanged a few bemused shrugs. Not wanting to make their leader any more angry and suspecting that this was a new, “improved” part of the ritual, they also began to hop and make pained sounds.
The sight of Em jiggling about in the altogether and moaning was too much for Duncan. Whilst trying to setup some ambitious harmonics, the pipes slipped from his grasp. Instead of landing softly in the grass, however, they clattered off something unexpectedly solid.
The cessation of the Celtic moods, combined with the realisation that the obscenities streaming forth from Anthony’s lips would not be particularly pleasant even for the great pagan goat god, cut the ritual off in what Dawn considered to be its naked frolicking prime. Gradually, the jiggling stopped and the arms were lowered. As one, they turned to Anthony.
“My toe!” cried the Grand Master, still hopping. “I stubbed my bloody toe!" (The little piggy that went to the abattoir.)
Anthony stopped hopping and slowly collapsed backwards into the grass, clasping his injured foot. "I think it’s broken.”
Duncan, quickly trying to retrieve his pipes before Anthony turned his anger on him, pointed at the small mound that his instrument had just bounced off.
“Look!" he yelped, his voice breaking in excitement. "There’s a small rock or something. You must have kicked it.”
Duncan stood, pointing and beaming. It had been Sister Toni's turn to perform the ritual of cleansing and to check for unwelcome debris earlier that morning. He was going to avoid Anthony's temper for a little longer, at least. With any luck, Anthony would ultimately find some way to point the finger of blame at A - he usually did.
"I'm pretty sure it wasn't there earlier," Toni told them, craning her neck forward to look. “I’m sure I would have spotted that.”
“It’s a miracle!” cried Sister Dawn in a vain attempt to reinitiate the naked frolicking.
Em did not seem quite so pleased with Duncan’s pronouncement. She did not really believe in miracles but neither did she believe that her sister would screw up. She stepped forward for a closer look.
“That’s no rock," she said, after a moment's scrutiny. "It’s moving! Look!” Duncan frowned and looked closer for himself. Sure enough, the lump was moving very slowly through the long grass towards the campfire. “What is it?”
By now, all twelve of them were peering through the murky pre-dawn light at the mobile mound. Even Anthony had stopped cursing and hobbled over to investigate. It was at that moment that the sun finally peered over the eastern horizon, bathing the scene in a crisp, clean light.
“Blow me!” said A, turning to Brother Peter next to him. “It’s a tortoise!”
Sure enough, sunlight was now glinting off of what was quite clearly a tortoise shell. The animal was still making slow but steady progress towards the centre of the group and, as yet, seemed totally disinterested in the naked humans that surrounded it. In total contrast, the worshippers of the goat god were wholly absorbed with their reptilian gatecrasher. Duncan had even stopped watching Em out of the corner of his eye.
There was a moments shocked silence before Grand Master Anthony, who was slowly regaining composure and sensed the need to re-assert his authority, spoke up. "I don't know about a miracle but it's certainly not natural. Tortoises are not indigenous to this part of the world."
"You're right there," agreed Brother Dave, who had been working on local farms since he was a boy. "I know these fields better than anyone and there ain't no tortoises running around normally"
“What’s he doing here?” asked Brother Patrick, all thoughts of ethereal transport driven from his mind. He glanced at his fellows. “Where did he come from?”
“Search me!” declared Brother Peter, defensively. “He’s not one of mine!”
“Look’s like he’s heading for the fire,” observed A, as a small argument broke out of the meaning of the tortoise's appearance.
He was right. The tortoise was indeed heading straight at the fire, like a very slow heat-seeking missile.
“It’s the sign of the self-immolating tortoise!” Anthony declared, determined to regain control of the situation. “An omen from Pan himself.”
“Hooray!” cried sister Dawn. “Let’s frolic naked in celebration!”
Brother Patrick frowned at the group leader. The frown had formed earlier, when his easily-distracted brain had found itself mentally searching the naked Brother Peter. He had not enjoyed the experience and was quick to put the frown to good use.
“There is no sign of the self immolating tortoise,” he told Anthony.
“There could be after tonight!” Dawn enthused.
Sister Toni looked horrified at the suggestion. “We can’t let the poor thing burn itself!”
Sister Em agreed with her biological sister. (Together, they had formed a local mixed interest society called RAVEN – the Ravenhill Anti-Vivisection Existential Nudists. They believed quite firmly in personal responsibility for one’s actions and the creation of one’s own moral values through freedom of choice, so long as that choice involved being nice to animals and, whenever possible, in the altogether. They had been attracted to Anthony’s group that worshipped Pan partly because he was the goat god but mainly because they shared Dawn’s desire to frolic naked.)
“Somebody stop it!” she cried.
Duncan, who would gladly risk singing his privates to impress Em, jumped forward and placed his panpipes as a barrier between reptile and its conflagration. (He had been attracted to Pan’s People partly because he had originally thought he was auditioning for the reformation of the 70’s pop sensation but mainly because he shared Em’s desire for Em to frolic naked.)
Unable to progress, the tortoise stopped and eyed each of the disrobed devotees in turn. It opened its mouth as if to speak. Twelve necks craned forward to listen. Then the tortoise exploded.
Following Em’s declaration, the twelve followers of Pan began to circle the fire, arms raised skywards. The only exception was Brother Duncan. He continued his musical accompaniment on the panpipes, tightly gripping them in both hands lest he got caught by a flailing elbow of Sister Em in front of him, who was prone to a bit of freestyle spinning when caught up in the spirit of the occasion.
Behind him, Brother Patrick, who was both easily distracted and rather high on marijuana, considered how great it would be to have an ethereal plane. Then he wondered how you would land one without breaking your legs.
Before he could worry about how an ethereal plane could carry you in the first place, Patrick was counter-distracted when, after one and a half revolutions, Anthony cried out and started hopping about on his left foot whilst clutching at the toes on his right.
The others looked at each other and exchanged a few bemused shrugs. Not wanting to make their leader any more angry and suspecting that this was a new, “improved” part of the ritual, they also began to hop and make pained sounds.
The sight of Em jiggling about in the altogether and moaning was too much for Duncan. Whilst trying to setup some ambitious harmonics, the pipes slipped from his grasp. Instead of landing softly in the grass, however, they clattered off something unexpectedly solid.
The cessation of the Celtic moods, combined with the realisation that the obscenities streaming forth from Anthony’s lips would not be particularly pleasant even for the great pagan goat god, cut the ritual off in what Dawn considered to be its naked frolicking prime. Gradually, the jiggling stopped and the arms were lowered. As one, they turned to Anthony.
“My toe!” cried the Grand Master, still hopping. “I stubbed my bloody toe!" (The little piggy that went to the abattoir.)
Anthony stopped hopping and slowly collapsed backwards into the grass, clasping his injured foot. "I think it’s broken.”
Duncan, quickly trying to retrieve his pipes before Anthony turned his anger on him, pointed at the small mound that his instrument had just bounced off.
“Look!" he yelped, his voice breaking in excitement. "There’s a small rock or something. You must have kicked it.”
Duncan stood, pointing and beaming. It had been Sister Toni's turn to perform the ritual of cleansing and to check for unwelcome debris earlier that morning. He was going to avoid Anthony's temper for a little longer, at least. With any luck, Anthony would ultimately find some way to point the finger of blame at A - he usually did.
"I'm pretty sure it wasn't there earlier," Toni told them, craning her neck forward to look. “I’m sure I would have spotted that.”
“It’s a miracle!” cried Sister Dawn in a vain attempt to reinitiate the naked frolicking.
Em did not seem quite so pleased with Duncan’s pronouncement. She did not really believe in miracles but neither did she believe that her sister would screw up. She stepped forward for a closer look.
“That’s no rock," she said, after a moment's scrutiny. "It’s moving! Look!” Duncan frowned and looked closer for himself. Sure enough, the lump was moving very slowly through the long grass towards the campfire. “What is it?”
By now, all twelve of them were peering through the murky pre-dawn light at the mobile mound. Even Anthony had stopped cursing and hobbled over to investigate. It was at that moment that the sun finally peered over the eastern horizon, bathing the scene in a crisp, clean light.
“Blow me!” said A, turning to Brother Peter next to him. “It’s a tortoise!”
Sure enough, sunlight was now glinting off of what was quite clearly a tortoise shell. The animal was still making slow but steady progress towards the centre of the group and, as yet, seemed totally disinterested in the naked humans that surrounded it. In total contrast, the worshippers of the goat god were wholly absorbed with their reptilian gatecrasher. Duncan had even stopped watching Em out of the corner of his eye.
There was a moments shocked silence before Grand Master Anthony, who was slowly regaining composure and sensed the need to re-assert his authority, spoke up. "I don't know about a miracle but it's certainly not natural. Tortoises are not indigenous to this part of the world."
"You're right there," agreed Brother Dave, who had been working on local farms since he was a boy. "I know these fields better than anyone and there ain't no tortoises running around normally"
“What’s he doing here?” asked Brother Patrick, all thoughts of ethereal transport driven from his mind. He glanced at his fellows. “Where did he come from?”
“Search me!” declared Brother Peter, defensively. “He’s not one of mine!”
“Look’s like he’s heading for the fire,” observed A, as a small argument broke out of the meaning of the tortoise's appearance.
He was right. The tortoise was indeed heading straight at the fire, like a very slow heat-seeking missile.
“It’s the sign of the self-immolating tortoise!” Anthony declared, determined to regain control of the situation. “An omen from Pan himself.”
“Hooray!” cried sister Dawn. “Let’s frolic naked in celebration!”
Brother Patrick frowned at the group leader. The frown had formed earlier, when his easily-distracted brain had found itself mentally searching the naked Brother Peter. He had not enjoyed the experience and was quick to put the frown to good use.
“There is no sign of the self immolating tortoise,” he told Anthony.
“There could be after tonight!” Dawn enthused.
Sister Toni looked horrified at the suggestion. “We can’t let the poor thing burn itself!”
Sister Em agreed with her biological sister. (Together, they had formed a local mixed interest society called RAVEN – the Ravenhill Anti-Vivisection Existential Nudists. They believed quite firmly in personal responsibility for one’s actions and the creation of one’s own moral values through freedom of choice, so long as that choice involved being nice to animals and, whenever possible, in the altogether. They had been attracted to Anthony’s group that worshipped Pan partly because he was the goat god but mainly because they shared Dawn’s desire to frolic naked.)
“Somebody stop it!” she cried.
Duncan, who would gladly risk singing his privates to impress Em, jumped forward and placed his panpipes as a barrier between reptile and its conflagration. (He had been attracted to Pan’s People partly because he had originally thought he was auditioning for the reformation of the 70’s pop sensation but mainly because he shared Em’s desire for Em to frolic naked.)
Unable to progress, the tortoise stopped and eyed each of the disrobed devotees in turn. It opened its mouth as if to speak. Twelve necks craned forward to listen. Then the tortoise exploded.
Saturday, 14 July 2012
Chapter 1.2
On a hill to the north, overlooking the pasture, two men lay in the grass, watching the proceedings with interest. And binoculars. One of the fellows, a large hunk of man who may have been hewn out of solid rock from the mountains of North Wales, turned to his companion, an overweight man in a grey suit with a long moustache and bad hair, who was composed mostly of rock buns and welsh cakes from the bakeries of South Wales.
"I think the fun's starting, sarge," said the man-mountain, a slight tremor in his voice betraying a touch of excitement about the mounting spectacle.
"It certainly is, Tommo," came the soft Welsh brogue of the soft, suited sergeant. "It's just a pity that their fire stops us using our night-vision goggles."
Tommo, who was kitted out in his black Police flak jacket, baseball cap (worn backwards) and camouflage face-paint, agreed. He liked night-vision goggles.
"Still," he countered, "the sun will be up soon, sarge."
"Yes it will, Tommo," the other agreed. "Yes, it will. Get out the video camera."
Tommo tucked his binoculars into one of the many pouches that adorned the webbing of his flak jacket and pulled out a video camera. One with a zoom lens, naturally. A very long zoom lens. To their left, the changing colour of the sky indicated that the sun was indeed about to rise. And it wouldn't be the only thing.
"I think the fun's starting, sarge," said the man-mountain, a slight tremor in his voice betraying a touch of excitement about the mounting spectacle.
"It certainly is, Tommo," came the soft Welsh brogue of the soft, suited sergeant. "It's just a pity that their fire stops us using our night-vision goggles."
Tommo, who was kitted out in his black Police flak jacket, baseball cap (worn backwards) and camouflage face-paint, agreed. He liked night-vision goggles.
"Still," he countered, "the sun will be up soon, sarge."
"Yes it will, Tommo," the other agreed. "Yes, it will. Get out the video camera."
Tommo tucked his binoculars into one of the many pouches that adorned the webbing of his flak jacket and pulled out a video camera. One with a zoom lens, naturally. A very long zoom lens. To their left, the changing colour of the sky indicated that the sun was indeed about to rise. And it wouldn't be the only thing.
Friday, 13 July 2012
Chapter 1.1
Night covered the fields around Swansea like a black velvet glove, albeit a badly fitting one that smelt faintly of manure. In one such field near Bon-y-maen, eleven figures in white robes encircled a small campfire. One of the figures was the proud possessor of a long beard that reached his midriff. In his left hand he held a golden sickle. In his right hand he held a stick, on which he was toasting marshmallows.
To the east, the sky lightened slightly in advance of the rising sun. In the west too, the sky lightened slightly, this time due to light pollution over Swansea. A slight murmur went round the group as they could sense dawn approaching. The bearded fellow, who had now moved on from marshmallows and was flaming a frankfurter, looked up.
“Hello, Dawn!” said he.
“Hello, A.” Dawn replied. “Have I missed anything? We haven't got to the naked frolicking yet, have we?”
It was not A that answered her but rather another chap with a patchy grey goatee beard. “We do not frolic naked, young lady. For we are Pan's People, and we perform our ceremonies with pride and dignity.”
“But…” started A.
“Young man!” interrupted the goatee. “The sun is almost upon us. Sister Em is to lead us in the address to Pan, after which we shall parade in the pasture as nature intended.”
Dawn broke into a frown. “But I thought it was Brother A's turn to lead the address of Pan's People. Why Em?”
"Why Em?" the goatee repeated through gritted teeth. "Why Em?! See A? Abusing the sacred flames with a sausage is not conducive to the address of Pan. That's why Em.”
Slightly shocked by the outburst, Dawn turned to her bounteously-bearded buddy and raised one eyebrow inquisitively.
“I got Grand Master Anthony's golden sickle gooey with marshmallow,” he whispered, making Dawn giggle and the goatee scowl at the pair of them.
Grand Master Anthony had a serious case of beard envy. It was he that had abbreviated A's name - also Anthony - so that people did not get them confused. Em's sister Toni had eliminated one possible abbreviation, and Anthony had chosen A in the hope that the younger man would somehow seem inferior. It had not worked. It was also he that added the "Grand" in "Grand Master" in the hope that it would gain him more respect. That had not worked either. Instead, it had given him the nickname "Grab a Grand" when the other members of Pan's People were talking about him behind his back. They did this quite regularly, for Grand Master Anthony was a man who tended to turn his back on those he deemed beneath him, which was essentially everybody.
Although a man who was used to having his hopes flung back in his face (or back), the Grand Master was unwilling to be upstaged by sausage, marshmallow, nor any other form of consumable on a stick, and decided to get things moving. “Brother Duncan - the pipes, young man.”
Brother Duncan, a spotty youth whose mother ran the B & B in Bon-y-maen, produced a set of panpipes from the recesses of his robe and began to play them softly. It was not so much a tune as a gentle meandering of notes but what the boy lacked in talent, he made up in enthusiasm. Brother A was the real talent of the group when it came to the pipes but, again, the Grand Master forbade him from "showing off" and so it was left to his less skilful kindred to start the proceedings.
Next to Duncan, Sister Em stretched forth her hands. “Oh great goat god, Pan. Hear us from Arcadia and smile on us as we welcome the new season. Jupiter has waned and Capricorn is here. Bless us as we celebrate your coming. I present myself to thee!”
With that, Sister Em flung off her robes to reveal her naked body. Brother Duncan's music faltered slightly as his control of the panpipes was momentarily affected by the horn. Then, one by one, the group presented themselves to the great goat god, Pan.
To the east, the sky lightened slightly in advance of the rising sun. In the west too, the sky lightened slightly, this time due to light pollution over Swansea. A slight murmur went round the group as they could sense dawn approaching. The bearded fellow, who had now moved on from marshmallows and was flaming a frankfurter, looked up.
“Hello, Dawn!” said he.
“Hello, A.” Dawn replied. “Have I missed anything? We haven't got to the naked frolicking yet, have we?”
It was not A that answered her but rather another chap with a patchy grey goatee beard. “We do not frolic naked, young lady. For we are Pan's People, and we perform our ceremonies with pride and dignity.”
“But…” started A.
“Young man!” interrupted the goatee. “The sun is almost upon us. Sister Em is to lead us in the address to Pan, after which we shall parade in the pasture as nature intended.”
Dawn broke into a frown. “But I thought it was Brother A's turn to lead the address of Pan's People. Why Em?”
"Why Em?" the goatee repeated through gritted teeth. "Why Em?! See A? Abusing the sacred flames with a sausage is not conducive to the address of Pan. That's why Em.”
Slightly shocked by the outburst, Dawn turned to her bounteously-bearded buddy and raised one eyebrow inquisitively.
“I got Grand Master Anthony's golden sickle gooey with marshmallow,” he whispered, making Dawn giggle and the goatee scowl at the pair of them.
Grand Master Anthony had a serious case of beard envy. It was he that had abbreviated A's name - also Anthony - so that people did not get them confused. Em's sister Toni had eliminated one possible abbreviation, and Anthony had chosen A in the hope that the younger man would somehow seem inferior. It had not worked. It was also he that added the "Grand" in "Grand Master" in the hope that it would gain him more respect. That had not worked either. Instead, it had given him the nickname "Grab a Grand" when the other members of Pan's People were talking about him behind his back. They did this quite regularly, for Grand Master Anthony was a man who tended to turn his back on those he deemed beneath him, which was essentially everybody.
Although a man who was used to having his hopes flung back in his face (or back), the Grand Master was unwilling to be upstaged by sausage, marshmallow, nor any other form of consumable on a stick, and decided to get things moving. “Brother Duncan - the pipes, young man.”
Brother Duncan, a spotty youth whose mother ran the B & B in Bon-y-maen, produced a set of panpipes from the recesses of his robe and began to play them softly. It was not so much a tune as a gentle meandering of notes but what the boy lacked in talent, he made up in enthusiasm. Brother A was the real talent of the group when it came to the pipes but, again, the Grand Master forbade him from "showing off" and so it was left to his less skilful kindred to start the proceedings.
Next to Duncan, Sister Em stretched forth her hands. “Oh great goat god, Pan. Hear us from Arcadia and smile on us as we welcome the new season. Jupiter has waned and Capricorn is here. Bless us as we celebrate your coming. I present myself to thee!”
With that, Sister Em flung off her robes to reveal her naked body. Brother Duncan's music faltered slightly as his control of the panpipes was momentarily affected by the horn. Then, one by one, the group presented themselves to the great goat god, Pan.
Thursday, 12 July 2012
Prelude (The story begins...)
Princess awoke with a start. Another nightmare. The silk blankets in her deluxe cat basket were slightly damp with sweat. She had not been sleeping well of late, and had even started taking naps at night to adjust for her lack of restful shut-eye during the day. It was probably just interference from the ascendant transition of Jupiter to Saturn - under her alter ego of Mystic Mog, Princess was aware of many potential forms of psychic disturbance - but her dreams had given her a deep sense of foreboding.
Princess glanced at the gold embossed Carriage clock on the mantelpiece. The night was at its armpit - things were getting smelly but had not yet come to a head. Time to go to work. Shaking off the fading memories, Mog left the house through the fake marble cat-flap in the kitchen and leapt nimbly onto the garden wall. Swansea stretched away before her. Like a pair of bad fitting Calvin Kleins, everything looked good but something just did not feel right. Trying to ignore the hair rising on her back, Mog set off into the night.
[NB. Read the Foreword if you have not yet read The Cabbages of Doom.]
Wednesday, 11 July 2012
Foreword
Although Mystic Mog and the Exploding Tortoise is a standalone story, it features several of the characters from The Cabbages of Doom and does follow on. Reading Mystic Mog first will give away some of the plot of Cabbages and spoil a few of the gags. The latter also has the advantage of being finished! The Cabbages of Doom is available on the Kindle (Amazon), as an e-book (Lulu.com), or as a PDF.
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A sample chapter (PDF) is available here.
Tuesday, 10 July 2012
The Plan
I was chatting to a friend recently about writing fiction and he asked me how I controlled the characters as they had a tendency, in his experience, to go off and do their own thing. Well, in the case of The Cabbages of Doom, I guess the answer is that I didn't! The whole thing started life as a random email to a friend as a bit of light relief, which was followed up the next day by another that picked up where it left off, and then another and another... until I found myself writing a novella. (Too long to be a short story but too short to be a proper novel!) I don't think it was until about half-way through that I really knew how it was going to end and, even then, it took the characters rather longer than expected to get themselves to that end!
The sequel started life almost as randomly, as a title: "Mystic Mog and the Exploding Tortoise". I can't remember how or why that title became fixed - it happened when I was a PhD student before the first story was even finished - but now it has become quite established and the story has grown (or continues to grow) around it. Finishing Cabbages gave me a bit more time to dwell on the plot of the sequel, so I have an approximate plan this time of where it is going, although some things - such as the end - are still lacking. What is really lacking, though, is the writing! Things were a bit slow with my iPad because it's not that great for heavy text input but now I have a MacBook Air, I am hoping this will improve.
I am still finding it a bit hard to make the time, though, particularly as I am stuck in a bit of tricky spot - over 44,000 words are already written but not for quite a long time, so I need to try and refresh my memory (and edit) somewhat before really launching back into it. With so much of the story still to go, however, I have this "will I ever finish it?" feeling that keeps clawing me back.
Time to take action, and that action is to serialise it in this blog! I've never blogged a story before, so I am not entirely sure how, or even if, this is going to work but the rough plan is essentially to follow the original genesis of The Cabbages of Doom, releasing one "episode" (snippet) each day or so until completion. I have fifty or so such snippets largely ready to go (with a bit of neatening and editing) and a whole 'nother bunch planned, so I should have enough to keep going for a while. The hope is that, in the meantime, I can write some more and keep ahead of myself. (I probably won't post every day.) If nothing else, the commitment will hopefully keep me going!
Once it's "finished", much like with The Cabbages of Doom, I imagine I will go back over it and edit out the bits that don't work, fix a few continuity errors, flesh out some weak bits and whack it out as another eBook. So, if you liked the first one, or just want to help be a "muse" (and, with luck, amused), do sign up and join me on my journey to more madness. I hope to post the first snippet in a day or so.
The sequel started life almost as randomly, as a title: "Mystic Mog and the Exploding Tortoise". I can't remember how or why that title became fixed - it happened when I was a PhD student before the first story was even finished - but now it has become quite established and the story has grown (or continues to grow) around it. Finishing Cabbages gave me a bit more time to dwell on the plot of the sequel, so I have an approximate plan this time of where it is going, although some things - such as the end - are still lacking. What is really lacking, though, is the writing! Things were a bit slow with my iPad because it's not that great for heavy text input but now I have a MacBook Air, I am hoping this will improve.
I am still finding it a bit hard to make the time, though, particularly as I am stuck in a bit of tricky spot - over 44,000 words are already written but not for quite a long time, so I need to try and refresh my memory (and edit) somewhat before really launching back into it. With so much of the story still to go, however, I have this "will I ever finish it?" feeling that keeps clawing me back.
Time to take action, and that action is to serialise it in this blog! I've never blogged a story before, so I am not entirely sure how, or even if, this is going to work but the rough plan is essentially to follow the original genesis of The Cabbages of Doom, releasing one "episode" (snippet) each day or so until completion. I have fifty or so such snippets largely ready to go (with a bit of neatening and editing) and a whole 'nother bunch planned, so I should have enough to keep going for a while. The hope is that, in the meantime, I can write some more and keep ahead of myself. (I probably won't post every day.) If nothing else, the commitment will hopefully keep me going!
Once it's "finished", much like with The Cabbages of Doom, I imagine I will go back over it and edit out the bits that don't work, fix a few continuity errors, flesh out some weak bits and whack it out as another eBook. So, if you liked the first one, or just want to help be a "muse" (and, with luck, amused), do sign up and join me on my journey to more madness. I hope to post the first snippet in a day or so.
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