Written Off by Paul Carroll

Author:Paul Carroll
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Troubador Publishing Ltd
Published: 2016-01-11T05:00:00+00:00

As Hugo speed-read the opening chapters optimistically submitted by 18 expectant authors, the train pulled into Birmingham New Street. Six carriages down from first-class, Bronte Damson was about to close the door behind her when she saw a Marje Proops lookalike tearing down the platform trailing a giant Samsonite Spinner in her wake. Bronte stood aside as the woman hurled herself on to the train like it was the last one out of Paris in Casablanca.

As the woman bent over at the knees to collect her breath, the train set off. ‘God, that was close,’ she gasped.

Bronte, not wishing to abandon the tardy traveller until she knew she had recovered, asked, ‘Can I help you with your bag?’

The woman, unused to such chivalry from the young, laughed. ‘I’m all right, darling. I’m not ready for the knacker’s yard just yet.’

The two made their way through into coach J and searched for their respective seat numbers. By chance they were seated on the same table, but an even greater coincidence occurred when they both pulled out their Write Stuff weekend conference packs.

‘Ah,’ said Alyson Hummer to her young companion, ‘what are the odds on that?’ Introductions made, now it was her turn to show deference as she insisted on sharing with Bronte the travel snacks she’d had the foresight to pack.

Bronte was beside herself that her conference weekend was starting earlier than she’d expected. ‘Is this your first time?’ she wanted to know.

‘Yes, I’m a conference virgin,’ confided Alyson.

‘Me, too,’ said Bronte. ‘I’m so excited.’

Alyson innocently and logically pitched the question that was to be on everybody’s lips all weekend. ‘So what sort of stuff do you write?’

Bronte was only too happy to have an early opportunity to try out her carefully prepared rejoinder. ‘Well, the simplest category would be fantasy, but I feel that’s too limiting if I’m being honest. The Catacomb of Tongues – that’s the title of the book I’m working on – is rooted in a medieval world of magic but owes a debt to the sci-fi tradition of Poul Anderson. Have you read any Poul Anderson?’

Alyson felt like she had just tuned into the Open University by accident. ‘Pool Anderson? I can’t quite place him, sorry.’

‘Well, anyway, the first book of my trilogy is…’

‘You’ve written a trilogy?’ said a shell-shocked Alyson, feeling her spirits starting to sag in the face of such literary fecundity.

Bronte smiled. ‘It’s going to be a trilogy. It’s not actually finished yet.’

Well, that’s something, thought Alyson. ‘So how much have you written to date?’

‘I’ve not actually written –“written” – any of it yet, but that’s going to be the easy part – it’s all about getting the characters mapped out and chapter plan sorted. I’m pretty well on with that.’

This was news to Alyson, whose normal approach to writing was the same as her approach to sex – she just pounded away. ‘So you don’t just start off and see where it takes you?’

Now it was Bronte’s turn to be taken aback.

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