7souls Update

My labour of love has taken many years, but at 2:30 yesterday morning, I woke up with a clear view of where my last couple of chapters should go, and I've been writing solidly since! It's now finished, and I am excited about the result.

It'll be sent out to a few Beta readers now, who will give me their thoughts and ideas (or, ideally, say it's ready to go to print).

Now comes the fun part of designing the cover...
Here's one idea. Does this make you want to open it up?


Update:
I wrote the above in February of 2016. I's now almost February of 2017.
So what have I been doing?

Editing. Editing. And then, for something different, editing.

The problem with writing a manuscript doesn't end with the final full stop. In fact, when you get to that point, you're about a third of the way done.

I took a few months away from writing all together and indulged my passion for story telling by reading others work. I devoured all seven books of the Clifton Chronicles in three weeks (Jeffrey Archer is a master at character development, in my opinion!). I watched movies, read blogs and generally did my best to not think about my book, until I picked it up again at the start of this month.

And it reads well! It's a page turner. A quick read. Nothing too heavy to bog you down in the narrative.

I'm going to send it to a few well chosen Beta readers for their honest opinions, and work on that cover design, and will keep you posted for the release date.

Soon, though. It will be soon!

A William Hunter short tale...

"Seeing that you can't wait to see the back of her, I thought you'd help her with the fare. Eight pound should cover it."

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" the man shouted, "I ain't giving a penny to that bitch!"

I took a deep breath to calm my temper. "I'm William Hunter, the taxi driver that you called to collect her, only she doesn't have any cash. I thought I'd ask you as you're so keen to see the back of her."

"Fuck you."

Sandra had radioed me with the details of the pick up. I was on the other side of town, but she knew this was a job for me. "Just get there, and quickly," she'd said, "I'm pretty sure I heard him hit her. And be careful!"

When I'd pulled up outside, there was one hell of a ruckus going on. I could hear him shouting from the street, and I could hear her crying. Domestics aren't my thing, but a person in trouble is. I'm not the kind of guy that can ignore things like that. I can't let things lie. Bad people have to answer for the shit they put others through. Sometimes, there's a fine line between doing what's right and what's legal, but I have some practice in knowing where that line is.

And as I stared at him, the temptation to go over that line was almost too much. "The price just went up to ten pounds."

The man stood from his chair, beer bottle in hand, expanded gut hanging over the top of his jeans. He was a big man; maybe over fifteen stone. There was a coffee table between us; it would stall him if he made a move.

He waved the bottle in my face. "Get outta my house."

I remained calm. I'd already seen the golf clubs by the door, and wasn't afraid to use one if necessary. "I'll leave, but the cost just went up to fifteen."

It was like waving a red flag at a bull. The man snorted with rage. "That bitch won't get a single penny from me, including your bloody fare!"

"Twenty."

He launched the bottle in my direction, but the alcohol he'd already consumed made his actions sluggish. I didn't need to duck. The bottle smashed against a picture on the wall, which fell to the floor and smashed. This wasn't going to be easy.

"Twenty five. And the price will keep going up until you pay."


*****

I walked out of the house ten minutes later, and closed the door softly, then made my way down the path. I closed the gate behind me, and climbed in to the drivers seat.

She was still sobbing, and the tissues I'd given her were now damp, and strewn across the back seats. In the minutes I'd been otherwise occupied, her cheek had swollen and was turning a nice purple colour.

"He won't bother you again." I said. I counted out the cash in my hand, surprised that there was over four hundred there. I took a five pound note, and passed the rest back to her. She took it with a shaking hand.

Looking at the cash, she asked, "Where did this come from? We never had cash like this in the house."

"With a little persuasion, he told me where he hid it. It was in a fake flower pot in the downstairs toilet. The one that was on the shelf above the loo."

She smiled for the first time. "I always hated that thing. He said it was his mum's and wanted to keep it."

"And now we know why." I faced forward and turned the engine on. "Where do you want me to take you?"

She thought about it for a while, then said, "The Regency. I deserve one good night's sleep, right?"

I nodded, and pulled away from the curb. She'd get a lot of good nights sleep in her future. She just didn't know that yet.