Rainbow Snippets | Missing Things

If you’re new to the snips circuit or have found me by accident…Rainbow Snippets is a Facebook group where GLTBQ writers post snippets of their work every Saturday. There are snips from every genre, kind of pairing and heat level from sweet to steamy.

Click here to join us for some great, intriguing glimpses!

Good afternoon, snippetteers! I hope you all had a good week. I’ve been busy with work, and busy with writing… now that I’ve finally settled on my two next projects. Yes, I know, concentrating on just one would make a lot more sense, but – most days – the muse is temperamental. So she gets two options to flit between if she needs to. For the next so many weeks, I’ll be snipping either from Two Divided by Zero, a Jack Horwood story, or my near-future/dystopian novel Sound Judgement.

I started Sound Judgement almost exactly two years ago. It’s the story of an England in turmoil after a coup and six years of military government, where Sweeper Ace Ian Rathbone and intelligence wizkid Patrick McGowan must work out who’s trying to take down the sweepers… or die trying. I got stuck in the story at around 50k, and I’ve been trying to pick it up again ever since. Being a scientist by training, I always have to know the why of things, and I think I’ve worked out why I got stuck: I was trying to outline in so much detail that it interfered with the writing. In the last two years, I’ve learned a better way to do this, so hopefully, this time I’ll get to the end.

Previous snips are here, here, and here. And for today’s edition of Rainbow Snippets we’re with Ian as he contemplates his very unsatisfactory relationship, wondering how he has gotten where he finds himself.

 

From Sound Judgement

They didn’t talk of their differences, just as they didn’t mention the previous evening and Ian walking out in disgust. They simply carried on as if nothing had happened.

Ian looked around the room, at the mix of bright white and dove grey, at clear glass and black tile, and wondered how he’d ended up here. This was his apartment, his home, but the place felt as impersonal as any hotel room. He remembered Tom arguing for an ultra-modern, minimalist look, remembered giving in when he was yearning for warmly coloured walls, the rich hues of sturdy oak furniture and rows upon rows of books.

It was the stupidest decision he’d ever made and the worst of it was he couldn’t recall his reasoning. Didn’t understand why—after six years undercover—he’d condemned himself to eighteen months in a home without a single bookshelf.