This month has crept up on me.
I’m due to release a new book at the end of the month, Reliquary and it’s a job which requires a certain amount of dedicated energy.
Spring has sprung upon us and scared the hell out of us with three days of 18-26 this week! We literally watched the blossom emerge from the trees and then fall before we could even rush to get cameras and things, in between dashing around with a hose, moistening dry soil.
But then all day yesterday it rained and so the garden is looking satiated and as if it now has time to really think about spring. It’s about 13 today and a few things have opened. One must take the time to look because one finds spring is done and dusted in our neck of the woods in next to no time.
I went out in PJ’s and bare feet to take a pic of the rising sun on the heavy morning dew this morning, and of the snail trail across the moistened glass of the patio and I thought how one needs to take note of the small things in life, or smalls as some stitchers call it.
concatenation; plural noun: concatenations a series of interconnected things.
‘A series of interconnected things…’ If you’re a writer, it’s most likely that someone at some time has said: ‘It would be great as a series.’
And the truth is that many writers write copious series. Myself? I’ve written three series and am now in the middle of the fourth.
Why you may ask?
I haven’t been around for awhile. It’s not that I haven’t been in the gardens, not at all. It’s just that my writerly work requires long hours at the screen and I couldn’t face blogging. It’s also difficult to load things where we live on the coast, as our internet has slowed dramatically and mostly, I have to work off my phone. But happy with progress on the latest manuscript, and with a hot chocolate drink seasoned with marshmallows and Lindt chocolate shavings, I feel revived enough to post about the gardens.
I’m writing a new novel at the moment. It’s tentatively called Oak Gall and Gold and is Book Two of The Peregrinus Series.
The series, like my others, is set in the twelfth century, and inevitably involves the machinations of the trading house of Gisborne ben Simon. This time, there’s an incomplete illuminated manuscript, a monk with no memory, and dealings with the Holy Roman Empire.