Afternoon all… it’s time for a WiP Wednesday post and I hope it’s warm where you are, because I’m tempted today to put the heating on. Just as I keep having to run outside to rescue my drying washing, when it suddenly decides to bucket down with rain. Never mind it’s almost June. Apart from that, I’m trying my utmost to sneak some writing into the gaps of my day job, and restock all my living room bookshelves. And all of those endeavours are proceeding reasonably well.
Ian Rathbone, my long-neglected Sweeper Ace, is talking to me once more and this time I’m determined to finish his story. Not least because I’ve been looking at the stunning cover Garrett Leigh made for me for almost two years and I’m getting very twitchy to show it off! So… for the next so many WiP Wednesday posts (and probably a few Rainbow Snippets, too) I’m going to keep you up to date with the happenings in Sound Judgement.
It’s a near future / mildly dystopian story, set in an England after a coup and six years of anarchy and military government. And yes, reading Brexit briefings has a lot to do with how my fictional England is turning out. I started this two years ago and then got stuck a third from the end – a casualty of too many political discussions, and of outlining when one is a pantser. 😉 And here’s what you can look forward to in Sound Judgement:
Why does Ian Rathbone, England’s most highly decorated Sweeper Ace, put up with a cheating boyfriend?
Why does Patrick McGowan, intelligence specialist and hacker genius, keep silent about the night a terror attack felled the Tower of London?
And who is setting fatal traps for the Sweepers, who have bled and sacrificed and have never been anything but loyal?
Navigating professional dangers, personal attraction, and their own demons is tricky enough. Doing so while trying to stay alive and bring a traitor to justice may be one task too far.
And there’s a WiP Wednesday snippet for you under the image…
It wasn’t his parents’ grave. Of course, it wasn’t, though over the last four years, it had served its purpose well. He came to Shipley once a month to lay flowers, invariably finding other blooms already in place. Today, they were chrysanthemums. Big tousled heads of russet, maroon and deep gold, a warm splash of vibrant autumn on a dreary winter day. He settled his own bouquet of white lilies and red carnations in the waiting vase on the other side of the headstone and straightened the dark blue ribbons that held the chrysanthemums.
The flowers weren’t accompanied by a card. They never were. But the knots in the ribbon told him all he needed to know. Roger Jessop, his orders read. Holmfirth. Friday, 11th.
A termination order.
For Norman Jessop’s younger brother.
Ian’s bowed head hid his consternation. He wouldn’t have batted an eyelash had he found the order on his desk. He’d never expected to find it amongst the orders he received in Shipley graveyard.
For the first time since he’d begun his undercover assignment he considered asking Galahad for clarification. Not that he could. December 11th was less than a week away, and he had survived for as long as he had precisely because no trail of messages led to his door. With no end to his assignment in sight, he needed to keep it that way.