I have been hunting.
Chasing the errant apostrophe, relentlessly pursuing absconding commas and pouncing upon nigh-invisible extra spaces. My eyes are still scrolling, though the pages have, for now, stopped… Yes. Proofing.
Not. I hasten to add, alone. Other eyes have also been focussed on the task, locked in their own battle with absquatulating semicolons and versions and edits wing their way through the ether.
But it is a time when the world ceases to exist… there is little more than you and the alphabet, arrayed in what becomes a dancing kaleidoscope as you seek out the flaws, working as much with patterns as you do with words.
The only constant is the coffee.
All of which means that a book is about to be published…
Not your usual book, perhaps… though it is one of ours … the sixth in my joint adventure with Stuart France. A weaving of tales, both old and new; tales of this reality and… others. Just as the ancient stones stand quiescent in the midst of our modern world, yet still whisper their secrets to the wind, so too do the strands of adventure and myth intertwine and illuminate each other.
The story unfolds in the landscape of the north, where the moors are shrouded in mist and mystery; where the earth itself holds the keys to questions that have occupied mankind for millennia. It is here that Don and Wen begin this next phase of their quest for understanding.
Those who have read the books, or followed our adventures on the blogs, may have noticed that the characters regularly correspond… may even have surmised that ‘Don and Wen’ are synonymous with ‘Stuart and Sue’… Not so. The characters bear no resemblance whatsoever to we two. We, for instance, would never drag our dear and beloved ‘leader’ into such an escapade…
Not that he would need much dragging, of course…
… “Just make sure there’s enough room in the boot of the car,” says Wen and throws me the keys to the Silver Bullet before disappearing back into the flat to retrieve something.
I peruse with some consternation the contents of the boot: a wheel-barrow, a spade, a crow bar and a length of rope and when I look up to remonstrate with Wen she appears to be clad head to foot in black, wearing a black balaclava on her head, and brandishing an air rifle.
“Just put that in the boot and get in the car,” she says, handing me what can only be my own black balaclava and cladding.
“There had better be a damn good reason for all this,” say I clambering into the front seat.
“Too right there had,” intones Ben’s familiar drawl as he emerges upright from his prostrate position along the back seat of the Silver Bullet.
Somewhat un-reassuringly he also appears to be wearing a black balaclava….”
For imminent release:
Doomsday: Scions of Albion