Dubium

Dubium

Tami pulled over onto a quiet side road with a view of the church. It loomed foreboding above the tree line, conspiring to pierce the low bearing clouds to the point of puncture. We all dream of sun for our wedding day. Something about the rain’s intrusion just seemed… wrong.

‘It’ll ruin your dress,’ her passenger said, staring out at the gloom beside her.

‘The car park’s quite close to the entrance,’ Tami responded, ‘I’d only be out for a moment or two.’

‘That’s all it will take.’

As they listened to the patter on the windscreen, they held their silence. The time stretched itself thin, both agonisingly slow and way too fast all at once, concluding in Tami’s sigh.

‘If you don’t show up soon they’ll suspect I’m with you, those that know about me anyway. Emily will start asking about me.’

‘No,’ Tami said firmly, turning to force eye contact. ‘She won’t.’

Tami stopped to examine her hair, the natural brown combed back behind her shoulders, and caught sight of her own blonde twirls woven into her headpiece in the passenger window.

‘She can’t,’ Tami said more quietly, turning away from her reflection.

‘This isn’t you.’

Tami felt intruding fingers uncurling the styled strands and letting them fall flat to the side of her face. She had to make it stop. It had taken so much effort to put things in place.

‘It is today,’ Tami said catching the hand. She returned it to its owner, summoning the courage to look her in her baby blue eyes. ‘And it has to stay that way, forever.’ The latter elicited a scoff. It was perhaps a tad naive.

‘If marrying Emily is forever,’ her companion asked, ‘then why aren’t you inside?’

‘I wanted to face you before the ceremony,’ Tami said, ‘so I figured I’d go somewhere I knew you’d find me.’ She looked at the church. ‘Rather than watch Father remarry I came out here and worried about how fickle the heart can be. You were good company that day, but I didn’t expect us to grow so close.’

‘I kept you safe for so long.’

That voice had been weaker. Tami looked at her with a measure of pity and her expression softened, confrontational air waning.

‘But you were unfaithful.’

The delivery was so brutal it made Tami physically wince.

‘Rachel started sniffing around and pretty soon you didn’t have time for me anymore. It’s become a bit of a pattern for you, hasn’t it?’

‘Rachel was good to me,’ Tami said, closing her eyes against the painful recollection.

‘Until she wasn’t. You came crawling back to me soon enough.’

‘She made a mistake,’ Tami said pensively, ‘letting you back into my life was a bigger one.’

‘She wronged you.’

‘I could have forgiven her,’ Tami said, eyes beginning to water. ‘I’m sure if I-‘

‘I won’t let you.’

Tami nodded her head sadly, resisting the urge to touch her face. The tears there wanted to fall, but she couldn’t let them. A streak in her mascara would be too telling, an indication that she’d not been on her own. Misery loves company.

‘Poor Emily.’

It came out as a surprise. Tami noticed her rock a little, and felt revulsion as she noticed her grin and rub her hands with glee.

‘Rachel was the best thing that ever happened to me,’ Tami said quietly, ‘but it was you. You drove a wedge between us with your lies. When Rachel left, you were worse,’ her voice faltered under the weight of memories. ‘So much worse.’

‘That girl has no idea, does she?’

‘Emily keeps you away,’ Tami said. She felt close to screaming.

‘But not like Rachel did. With Emily I’ve been sharing you this whole time.’

‘There’s,’ Tami struggled to finish her thought. ‘There’s something different.’

‘You don’t love her.’

Tami sighed. She sighed deep. So deep, that when her lungs grabbed for air again she thought she might never stop inhaling and the air would pass right through her. She felt ten times lighter.

‘Thank you,’ Tami said. For the first time since she pulled up, she bore a smile. Heck, even the rain started to subside. ‘I, needed to hear you say it.’ She revelled in the stunned expression that greeted her. ‘Don’t think I haven’t noticed your family lingering around. When Emily and I announced our engagement, they went away for a while, but they’ve been everywhere I turn in the last couple of days. I can’t stand them. I won’t let you use them against me anymore.’

‘This isn’t fair on Emily.’

‘Yes it is,’ Tami said, voice growing in confidence with every word. ‘She loves me. I don’t-‘

‘It.’

‘Precisely,’ Tami said, grinning. ‘You wonder why you’ve never met?’

‘Wait!’ Tami grabbed a hold of her fingers, and started twisting her arm. ‘This isn’t fair on you!’ She yelped as Tami pinned her to the seat, arm wrenching back behind her.

‘It isn’t,’ Tami agreed. She took a deep breath. The time had come. ‘I’ve made my choice. I may never be rid of you completely, you’ll likely plague me forever.’ She battled the remaining arm that tried to fend her off, forcing it down beneath her knee. ‘But marrying Emily will keep your family away from me, and Emily will be happy. All she’s ever tried to do is help me. I don’t love her, but that’s okay. She never needs to know.’

Tami’s hands found their way up around her throat. It felt good. She tried to push them together as hard as she could.

‘This is not right!’

Tami could barely hear the words as the airway tightened.

‘What you’re doing is wrong!’

She stared her quarry in the eye, finding a power in the weakening resistance. ‘I know.’

* * *

Tami and Emily stood facing one another, both dressed in the divine white plumage of a couple of radiant swans. Tami scanned the pews, relieved to hold the duckling within at bay. Most of the congregation wore their best excited smiles, but she found a few faces that were more subdued in a pew on their own near the back. She knew they’d be there, and cocked an eye at them in silent warning.

The most important smile was inches from her face. It’s lips were moving but for a moment she couldn’t hear the words. Tami found herself dumbfounded, Emily looked beautiful. It’s just a shame she was picturing someone else.

‘This is the part where you say it back, silly!’ Emily said.

‘Right,’ Tami squeaked, suddenly aware of the minister’s concerned glare. She had a quick glance toward those subdued faces again, who were suddenly perking up with interest. ‘I mean I do.’ They slumped back down, gathering up their belongings and heading quietly for the exits. Tami smiled in relief, and turned to see the beaming faces of her family.

When it came to the kiss Tami hesitated, but only for a moment. She had a nervous glance towards the back pew, but thankfully none of them had lingered long enough to catch it and the seats remained empty.

‘You know I was joking when I said blondes have more fun, don’t you?’ Emily said, reaching up and pawing appreciatively at Tami’s hair. ‘But I must admit, it does make your eyes shine like an ocean.’

‘Pardon?’ Tami asked, suddenly feeling on edge.

‘What a cheesy thing to say,’ Tami heard from the back of the hall. ‘But then, isn’t that just Emily?’ The voice cut across the clamour like a knife. She turned around to see a lone figure staring across at her, taking up residence in the vacated pew.

‘I was trying to say something romantic! I think I’m just getting swept up in the occasion,’ Emily said. ‘Carpe diem.’

‘Carpe diem?’ Tami asked distractedly. It had disappeared, but she could still feel her presence close by.

‘Seize the day. It’s Latin.’

Tami looked over her shoulder but no one was there. She turned back to Emily and jumped as the previously seated figure stepped out from behind her.

‘You should probably Google it if you’re not sure.’

‘I know what it means,’ Tami whispered to her under her breath. ‘I just don’t know why she-‘

‘You don’t need to keep it like that forever though!’ Emily continued, completely unaware of the conversation going on around her.

‘Oh good,’ the figure chimed in, running her fingers through her own brown locks. ‘She’s practically begging you to introduce us!’

If Rachel couldn’t accept her then what chance did Tami have if Emily ever discovered her? She’d leave, and Tami would get no respite from her assailant. They’d be together forever. Together alone.

‘I, I don’t?’ Tami stammered.

‘Of course not!’ Emily giggled. ‘Forever is a long time!’

The figure raised her hands to Tami’s throat and pulled her close enough to pool their baby blue eyes together. ‘You’ll find that out soon enough.’

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* This story was first published 10/04/18 as part of Short Fiction Break's 2018 Spring Writing Competition - https://bit.ly/3kGnYxr

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Partners in Crime

 Partners in Crime

Jason coughed and spluttered, the smoke catching in his throat and part way up his nose.

‘Maybe Cigar Club was not the best idea.’ Chase laughed at the relief that swept across Jason’s face. ‘Let’s go back inside. It’s cold out here.’

‘Perils of you getting married in Autumn,’ Jason said with a grimace. The smoke was quickly whisked away on a snapping breeze that rustled the pile of damp brown leaves that had collected by their feet. He made sure it was out, then swept it and the ashtray into a carrier bag full of different sized boxes and tied it at the top, dumping it unceremoniously into the bin as Chase hauled open the doors and buffeted them with a wall of sound comprised of cheesy music and gaggled conversation.

‘How many of those did you buy?’ Chase joked, leading them to the bar.

‘Too many.’

‘You idiot. How did you expect us to get through them all?’

‘I dunno, I guess I thought it’d be like wine tasting you know? I got us a variety, just in case.’ Chase smiled knowingly as he signalled the hired barman to fetch them a drink.

‘I appreciate it.’

Jason caught the knowing look and folded in on himself. ‘I wanted to get it right. I feel bad that I’m not around anymore.’

‘Haha it’s alright, honestly. I know all about life getting in the way,’ Chase said, admiring the new shiny attachment to his finger. ‘Man, the adventures we had! You’ve got to live it up for the pair of us.’

Jason took a sip of his bitter drink. ‘Gallivanting is not all it’s cracked up to be you know, it can get lonely too.’

Across the sparsely attended dance floor, Carla was standing on her own beneath one of the house lights that edged the hired hall. The yellow light highlighted her high cheekbones, framing her glazed ocean blue eyes beneath her long dark locks, neatly curled and held in place by her subtle bridesmaid’s tiara.

A hand wafted before him, its closeness obscuring his vision. ‘… listening to me?’ Chase said, a goofy smile plastered across his face.

‘Sorry,’ Jason said, taking another deep swig of his drink. ‘I just can’t shake the feeling-‘

‘That it should be me buying cigars for your wedding?’ Chase suggested.

Jason nodded. He’d not consumed enough alcohol to diminish his inhibitions, with Chase he didn’t need to. He didn’t see him for years at a time, but put them back in a room together and it was as if they’d spent their entire life side by side.

‘After sixth form I got into university and she didn’t. Then when you had little Stevie she was with that prick James.’

‘John,’ Chase corrected.

‘Whatever happened to him by the way?’

‘Fuck knows,’ Chase said, ‘walked out on her and nobody ever heard from him again. That kind of thing happens to her a lot.’

There was a weight to the sentence that hit Jason deep in the pit of his stomach. A blow he was sure that Chase intended.

‘Hey, that was in September too right?’ He remembered the leaves outside of the venue, brittle and dry despite the chill wind. He remembered wanting to be warmer. ‘The baby shower? Why is that?’

‘Because me and Heidi were getting jiggy over Christmas. Stop stalling. Go over and talk to her. If anything’s gonna happen between you two it has to be now. I’m not conceiving another child just so you can fly back from wherever and spend the evening staring at her again. One’s enough, we’ve decided. I’m getting the snip.’

‘You’re wha-‘ Chase shoved him away before he could argue, then came in behind him and made a show of seeking out his new wife, drawing all the attention of the room as they prepared for their first dance.

‘Could’ve been us,’ Jason joked, as he stepped before Carla and took a place beside her on the wall.

‘Heaven forbid,’ Carla said and smiled.

For a moment Jason lost himself in her eyes trying to think of the right thing to say. His struggle seemed to please her and her eyes screwed a little tighter as her smile widened and she placed a comforting hand on his arm. ‘It does seem to,’ he said finally.

Carla looked at him intently.

‘I was talking to Chase about all the near misses we’ve had over the years,’ he said. ‘Something always gets in the way.’ Carla took a sip of her drink. ‘Or someone,’ he said, staring down at the engagement ring on her finger.

‘That didn’t stop us last time at Stevie’s baby shower,’ Carla said, pointedly removing it and slipping it into a stylish clutch bag.

It drew a grin from Jason. He remembered wanting to be warmer, then he remembered exactly how he achieved it. And who helped him. ‘You’ve not told anybody about that I hope?’

Carla shook her head. ‘That’s between us.’

Jason smiled. ‘Partners in crime,’ he said, which drew another warm smile from Carla.

‘Always.’

They watched silently as Chase and Heidi danced, camera flashes lighting the room, intermittently granting the illusion of daylight.

‘I meant me, actually,’ Jason said in an expulsion of breath. Carla turned back to face him. ‘The amount of times we’ve nearly got it together, and I’ve just taken off without a word.’

‘It’s alright,’ Carla said, turning her gaze back to the happy couple.

‘No, it’s not Carla. That kind of thing can really screw a person up. I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t worry,’ she said smiling. ‘Partners in crime, remember? We’ll find a way.’

* * *

‘Nothing like death to bring two people together…’ Jason said. He’d caught up to Carla as she left the church, relieved that she was at the back of the trail and set a few paces apart. Carla smiled, her eyes partially hidden beneath the black funeral shroud.

‘I didn’t see you inside,’ she said, taking a step forward and initiating their rejoining of the melancholic procession.

‘My flight got delayed.’ He shook his head. It was only a month ago he’d taken a plane out of here. ‘I can’t get my head around this. Poison? Was it something they ate on their honeymoon? God, it must have been horrible!’

‘Arsenic,’ Carla said dispassionately, ‘after they got back.’

‘Right.’ He supposed she must have put herself through hell already, and simply had nothing left to give. Doubly so, if what he’d overheard from the people at the head of the procession had been true. ‘How are you coping?’ He bitterly remembered his and Chase’s conversation. ‘Paul walked out on you and nobody’s heard from him?’ he recited.

‘We were arguing about you actually,’ she said, and Jason found himself unable to form a reply before they joined the rest of the mourners huddled around the double burial plot.

Jason had a feeling that they were forming a protective shroud. The cold wind tore through them where it could, but their frames prevented the worst of the leaves, Autumn scheming to fill the plot with its own dead before they could lower the caskets.

The pastor relied heavily on the season during the ceremony. One line in particular about being cruelly struck down in ‘the Autumn of their lives’ struck a chord with Jason, and he reached out a hand to Carla, who emotionally clasped it in her own.

‘My plane leaves in a few hours…’ he said later, after the others had gone and left the pair of them alone. Carla looked up toward him from her place on his shoulder. ‘But what if this time you came with me?’ Carla smiled, wider than he’d ever seen it, and nodded her head. ‘If fate finally wants this to happen, surely there’s another seat available.’

They were intercepted before they reached the airport.

‘Carla Veyhar?’ an officer said, lights and sirens blaring from the squad car that pulled over their taxi. ‘You’re under arrest on three counts of murder.’

‘Three?’ Was all Jason’s mind could process’ ‘You killed them! Your own sister, Carla, why?’

‘After I killed Paul, I knew Chase’s funeral was the only way to bring you back.’

‘That’s one hell of a bat signal, lady,’ the arresting officer said as he cuffed her. She seemed to take it as a compliment.

‘Why aren’t you panicking?’ Jason almost shrieked.

‘Because we’re finally together. Partners in crime, remember?’

The officer shot a look in Jason’s direction.

‘She doesn’t mean-‘ But the officer was already reaching for Jason’s wrists.

‘She kills her husband, sends the signal, and you come back and book her a flight out of here? It’s not looking good.’

‘But she! I mean!’ Jason turned to her, exasperated further by her innocently uncomprehending smile. ‘This was supposed to be the Autumn of our lives!’

‘In that case,’ the officer said, tightening the cuffs to an uncomfortable degree, ‘it’s gonna be a helluva winter.’

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* This story was first published 05/09/17 as part of Short Fiction Break's 2017 Fall Writing Competition - https://bit.ly/36pOcPU

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Professional Courtesy

 Professional Courtesy

I've learned that crossing one's legs to show a need for the toilet is in fact, a hardwired universal convention. A group of young men enter the small commuter waiting room en route to London and the man behind me in the queue folds a leg in warning. Most are basking outside on the sun beaten concrete beside the platform, only one urgent reason forcing them to roast inside. The heat has encouraged a funky smell from the gents but with plenty of time before the next train we've subconsciously agreed to pare down to single file, politely allocating two minutes grace between users. The females come and go unaffected.

A neatly shirted man exits the public lavatory and makes a visible snap judgement of my character based purely on which 'rag' I'm hiding behind as he walks back past me. The upcoming election is forcing a host of colourful behavioural slips I'm not usually privy to. It's making my job easier. I'm not yet halfway to work and already closing in on my daily observational quota.

Two minutes pass. I fold the newspaper quickly, and place it on my seat. To dawdle now would be madness - I'm the centre of attention, the star of the show, though if you'd looked through the window at that moment you'd never have guessed it. I was so engrossed in the private performance I never even considered the freshly entered businessman a threat. The villain of the piece, he blustered past, swinging his briefcase in one arm and very deliberately checking his wrist clock on the other. I stood shock still, staring in disbelief as the door closed behind him.

Sensing the boiling blood of those around me, I gave the man in the queue behind me a woollen look. 'What planet is that guy from?' his mock-horror expression read, and he tutted on my behalf. I was caught in no man's land - I'd already promised my body that release was imminent in the standing up. 'When in Rome' I thought bravely, though in truth I've never been quite certain of its application.

I heard somebody gasp as I marched toward the door. Actually gasp. I crossed my leg again upon arrival hoping to explain my raucous behaviour, and then compounded my embarrassment when I failed to open the door. Professional acumen dictated I return to my seat at this point, but I was too frustrated to care.

I forced it open, failing to register the green gloop that stretched and snapped in the frame as I pushed through, in favour of the man's vacated face staring up at me from the tiled floor. A scream formed in my throat as I studied the empty skin, stretched out with nothing to pull around, and eyes that caved inward for the same reason. The scream escaped as I panned across from the shed fleshy, suited pile to lock eyes with its owner - a very startled looking blubbery slob of a naked Zarganoid (at least that what I presumed to name it) that drew a protective doughy limb across its sloped middle half to protect its modesty, splayed in cosmic fashion around the farthest urinal. Embarrassment, it appears is another convention shared across the far reaches of the galaxy.

'Is everything alright in there?' An alarmed voice called from outside. I heard a few scraped chair feet  but nobody wanted to break the two minute grace without good reason. Zaggy raised a gelatinous mandible in my direction, the green gloop from the doorframe forming on the end of a digit in order to dictate my response.

'Yes,' I called back, 'no problems,' and felt immediately grateful for the reserved British policy of non-intervention.

The sound of water running through the pipes above reminded me of my need. I went out on my limb, crossing one leg in front of the other, and took a tentative step toward the closest urinal. Old Man Zarg slowly retracted his threat,  but kept a casual focus on me as I awkwardly concluded my business.

Making sure not to step on his face on the way out, I  tuned in to hear the wet schnick as he resealed the doorframe up double behind me. I smiled disarmingly at the searching faces and escaped with my newspaper onto the platform before any could find a voice.

As luck would have it, when the train arrived my queue neighbour settled down beside me in our two front two back row of seats. A colleague once told me that men who go to war together become brothers because of the blood spilled rather than the blood they share, and I figured an attack on common decency in a public waiting room, a shared victimisation, must account for much the same.

Zargary took the seat directly opposite, openly staring at me for the rest of the journey. I was a tad more discreet, examining him with stolen glances as I turned the page.  His human suit had been hastily reattached and lay off centre, the droop it caused making him look nothing more than ugly in comparison to those around us. No one else could see the alien beneath the man, but what was I supposed to do? Scream?

No. When that Zarganoid finished compiling his dossier on human behaviour I wanted him to understand that stepping foot on Earth meant abiding by its conventions. After all, a chance interstellar encounter on neutral ground didn't necessarily make us enemies, and I knew full well what a thankless job it could be at times. He might not have learned the intricacies of queuing yet, or that privacy here is relative, but I think by the time he left the train a couple of stops later, unexposed and free to carry on his reconnaissance, that he went some way to understanding the bigger picture. Back home they'd call it one thing, on Zargonia another. On this planet, you'd call it a professional courtesy.

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* This story was first published 28/06/17 as part of Short Fiction Break's 2017 Summer Writing Competition - https://bit.ly/3mL30Pv

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Book Review - The Tower of Fools - by Andrzej Sapkowski

My Rating - 4 out of 5 Stars

The first thing I want to point out is that this is a translated book coming out almost twenty years after its initial publication. I've seen a few comments from other readers with advance copies struggling to get to grips with character names etc. and levelling that as criticism, which I find hugely unfair. It's set in a historically grounded location - the rest of the sentence might be translated into English but names / place names won't be. It wasn't written for an English speaking audience so of course there'll be some unfamiliarity, and whilst that made it a little hard at times to keep track of the characters and their causes there's more than enough context to figure out why a person appearing again proves significant, a half beat or so later than those reading the original at most.

I think the original date of publication plays into the naivety of the main character as well. He's a red blooded young male led by romantic obsession. As the lead perspective you can expect world views and attitudes to largely fall in and around that bubble. The characters themselves are not unaware of this, and the lead even calls himself out for it later (characters should be allowed to grow after all). I don't know that there'd be much call for this mindset if it were written recently, but with the Witcher series gaining a huge spike in interest due to the recent adaptation for Netflix somebody was probably looking to capitalise on the author's other works. I don't know what time the decision was made for either undertaking but they are suspiciously close together. It's a successful one too - I was lucky enough to get an advance copy of a choice of books and picked this one specifically because I was intending to dip into Witcher at some point on the back of playing one of the games, and am now confident I'll take to the style of writing. Just be aware that this dated attitude is quite prevalent, right from the off.

I think this book took a little while to get going but I thoroughly enjoyed it by the end. The layers of mystery deepen beyond the somewhat vapid start, with pieces laid out early coming together in a satisfying way as the situational crises worsen. As the first in a trilogy it's always worth bearing in mind how the first third of the first book is going to be paced to account for later escalation. It's a book that grants you POV into an opposing entity (very briefly) so it falls into that category of knowing more about the bigger situation than the characters do with them playing catch up, which is a delicate balance that I found a little bit wearing at times. Though a sign of a good book to me is one that leaves my writing pad brimming with inspiration, and I certainly picked up a few ideas here!

When it comes to character I didn't quite gel with Reynevan. He only really caught my attention when he was doing something irritating. I accept him more as the avatar holding the camera that enables us to meet everybody else, and that's where I think the strength of the book is, in the people that Reynevan pulls around him.  It's suspiciously effective. Scharley, the real star in my opinion, COULDN'T work as well as he does if  we were granted POV insight. He operates exclusively outside of our understanding. That's not to say that Reynevan is a passive lead - the opposite in fact. We're dragged around entirely by his whimsy, the trick I think the book pulls off is to construct reasonable narrative on a case by case basis as to WHY (or a good amount of intrigue as to why ACTUALLY) the characters accept him as the lead protagonist. Though I will admit to several hard eye rolls at the advent of a recurring phrase that highlight just how much benefit being the main character grants you should the plot demand it... there's a little bit too much chance / coincidence that contributed to me being unable to give the book any more than four stars.

I don't read blurbs where I can help it. I was surprised upon reading it after the book that Reynevan is mentioned as a magician upfront. I found the slow unveiling of that fact one of the better points of intrigue. One last thing that irked me then was how another great character, Samson, received his physical strength. I found it a cheap gimmick and unnecessary given that magic is an established part of the world - especially considering his origins. I'll likely carry on the adventure at some point, but I'm more interested in taking on The Witcher before then.

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'The Tower of Fools' by Andrzej Sapkowski - https://bit.ly/3nPfc3h

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Update - 19/10/2020

Hey,

Time, eh? Good... I'm glad that's covered. Anyway I just wanted to assure you that writing is still very much what I want to do, despite everything. I think and plan every day and am drowning in notes for projects that may yet happen. I feel like I've grown so much as a writer even if I have nothing tangible to show for it, and am still very excited to share my fiction at some point down the line!

One of the things I have been up to in the meantime was to try something external. My friend Theresa Jacobs writes at a phenomenal pace so I knew she'd likely have something in the works as a discovery writer / pantser. With my own projects getting very heavy work I felt like I needed a bit of a break, and so reached out to ask if I could maybe get involved somehow in one of her latest Horror offerings. To my delight she was kind enough to show me her latest work, Handsome, that was in development. It was a departure as she was trying her hand at writing for the Crime genre, which in itself felt like a bit of a sign to me that I could maybe bed in as part of that point of change.

 

It didn't really pan out as I was expecting. But I am so, so, grateful for the experience. Without me outlining a clear plan I was unable to stick to the brief and both under and over delivered as my role changed - and where I was going into it hoping that some of her speed may rub off on me, it actually went the other way with me holding her up unfairly as I dragged her down to my level. It became painfully clear that editing for someone else is not something you can easily walk into just because you write yourself. In fact that was probably the biggest failing as I fell into the trap of trying to mould it into my own image - the kind of editor that all the advice screams to avoid avoid avoid. I'm just sorry that I was unable to clock it happening, and mostly that coming from a position as a friend likely complicated how easy it would be to turn me away earlier in the project.

 

The best thing to come out of that experience is that Theresa held firm. The book is entirely hers, save for an inoffensive tweak here and there on the back of what we agreed would instead be more of an Alpha Reading role. It's reviewing well, and distinctly feels like SHE wrote it - the former being the best compliment to the latter. The story follows detective Marcy Gagon's efforts to protect Toronto from a serial killer acting out of resurfaced trauma, against the complexities of the new chief of police's reluctance to acknowledge the threat so soon in the wake of the shadow cast by the real life misfortunes of the city, and the strain that putting herself at risk causes to her relationship with tight-laced Krista; holding Marcy back as a result of harbouring a little trauma of her own. 

I'd encourage you to have a look for yourself and maybe pick up a few more titles from her back catalogue, as it's interesting to essentially track her tangible development as a writer. I'm very invested to see how far she'll progress with each title in the future! It was great for me to get a taste for finishing something I was involved in, a level of detachment that I'm very short on... and the level of my writing certainly took a leap on the back of it. Thankfully things remain positive between us, and I certainly feel better equipped should there be an opportunity for some kind of collaboration in the future.

That said I've not resurfaced this time with something specific in mind in terms of my own output. I've been absorbing a lot in my time away and have finally come to the resolution to start reviewing books that I enjoy. I've always been hesitant as I don't feel like it's my place to be critical of others in my field, but the events surrounding the Black Lives Matter movement in the summer really forced me to think and take notice of the privileged position I inhabit.

 

I think the comfort of privilege for me has been that I've excused myself from secondary thinking. 'I want in', I think whilst reading and writing, pushing my way through a noisy crowd with my blinkers fastened tightly and my hands mostly covering my ears as I stride (or stumble in my case) towards my goal. I can still see the people ahead of me, knowing they'll be the ones I'm bouncing off my hips shortly as they fall behind and I can stop thinking about them. I can still hear the murmur, the conversation and debate for change has always been there - I was born with my ears open, I've put my hands in that position because it's easier to disengage without the definition. I feel like I've been handed a sheet and told I can use it to dress up as a ghost, basically, and that so long as I'm careful not to bump too hard into anybody the whole world will play along as they're too polite or tired to check under every white blur that moves through them for good intentions. The general understanding is that ghosts pick and choose when they participate in corporal affairs after all, and that encapsulates my mind set.

 

It's not on others to tell me that my feet are showing, it's on me to realise that the sheet only fit me as a child. I don't feel I have the strength of character or personal conviction to help aid the change that is required on a larger scale, but I can't knowingly go on wearing it now that I've caught sight of my reflection. I'm exposed now, others can see me for what I am and judge me for how I act. At the same time I've got to acknowledge my peripheral vision without believing myself ethereal until it suits me. I might not be able to change the world, but it is on me to be an active participant to those on the path around me. If we're journeying toward the opportunity to share our fiction then I should acknowledge that that sheet I was handed can now be repurposed as an occasional tool I can share with others, and to be more human in helping push forward as a collective unit. A race would have ended by now, so there's no harm in taking time to make sure more of us get to reach our destination.

 

Thus... reviews. It's a small way to help and requires me to get uncomfortable in the process as a kind of faux accountability for personal growth. Hopefully it encourages me to engage further in future, but for now it's a start. I'm turning it into a bit of a process that mixes in with expanding my reading list to be more inclusive generally. You can read more about the thinking / practicality of that on the new Book Reviews page that will be added to the site soon for more info.

 

On that note I just want to give you a heads up that I'll be stripping the site back a bit, removing some of the old features like the 'Three Words' writing prompts and the 'Artists' page etc. They are being reverted to draft rather than deleted, so it's possible they could return at a later date if I have the motivation to refresh them.

 

Also in terms of catching up with a bit of admin, there are the stories that I wrote as part of my time writing for Short Fiction Break's competition. I didn't follow through on getting some artwork to go with them so they never made it to the site. I know it's not new content, but they've long passed their period of exclusivity now so I'll probably set about bringing them home over the next few weeks in case anybody missed them the first time around.

 

That's pretty much that! I'm still plugging away on my own works though there's not much sight of a horizon at present. Hopefully committing to the occasional reviews will also encourage me to be more proactive generally... but I won't make any promises given my track record! So look out for the short stories if you missed them, and I'll be adding the first review shortly. I'll be starting off with 'The Tower of Fools' by Andrzej Sapkowski of Witcher fame, having been lucky enough to get hold of an ARC ahead of its release on the 27th, inadvertently helping me out by setting me a bit of a deadline... 'What's that? Paul? You're ahead of the curve for once?' It would appear that way wouldn't it? Except, true to form, I actually finished reading / reviewing it back in June.

 

Until next time, buh-bye!

 

__________
 

Discover Theresa Jacobs - https://bit.ly/3dHhgp2

 

Purchase Theresa's book 'Handsome' - https://amzn.to/3kaGMWs

 

'The Tower of Fools' by Andrzej Sapkowski - https://bit.ly/3nPfc3h

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