A few weeks ago I went to a writer’s pitch conference. It’s a bit like speed dating. You sit down for ten minutes with an agent or editor and pitch what you’re working on. I pitched four different people, all four wanted a query and more pages from me.
So I’ve been lifting and toting and hacking and slashing like mad. (At my writing, of course. Doing that anywhere else would be weird.)
As a result, once again Friday looms and I have no time.
What to do when you’ve been busy all week and have not had time to come up with something for your weekly newsletter/soapbox/comedy outlet? Why, you premiere a bit of the first chapter from your draft!
Okay, I know I’ve done this before. But this is a different bit, I promise!
Right now the working title is ENCHANGLEMENT, and it’s a cozy fantasy. What’s a cozy fantasy? Good question! It’s high fantasy with low stakes. Something warm and comforting and hopefully funny.
It’s set in an alternate Edwardian universe where enchantment, alchemy, and clockwork engineering abound.
Take a read. I’d love any feedback you’d care to share.
When the boggart in the suit and bowtie arrived at my front door and lifted me high over his horns, manhandling me like I was a keg of ale to be fitted in the taps, the only thing I could think to say was, “I bruise easily!”
The old wits don’t work so well when I’m under duress. All those heroes in the monthlies and penny dreadfuls who quickly dispatch the villain while firing off witty repartees are, to my mind, a bit loopy. I mean, if you’re in the middle of a battle to the death, do you really have time to comment on what the baddie is wearing? Do you? I certainly don’t.
“Put me down! And please watch the carpets! My landlady will roast me if they’re messed.”
My protestation had absolutely no effect on the boggart. The little blighter snorted like an angry goat and grumbled, “Ve’s needz to be going. Ze miztrezz vants ye at office by zeven.”
So that’s the culprit behind this brazen boggart who’d come a me-napping! Cousin Bethulia!
My Cousin Bethulia is a constant source of aggravation in my life and has been ever since I can remember. It’s because I’m taller, which is neither my fault nor hers, yet somehow she’s taken great offence to the fact. She never lets an opportunity to ridicule me pass without taking a good kick at my proverbial can. But to send a boggart to rouse me from my own abode first thing in the a.m., well, this was a new height in dastardly relations.
“Listen, dear fellow, could we talk about this? Perhaps while I’m not being lugged about like a slab of cured pork?”
“No.”
“Ahh.”
Boggarts are brutes, known for their tenacity, loyalty, and strength. Even though they rarely pass three feet of height, they have enough sinewy muscle crammed into their bodies for a bull-cow. They are loyal to a fault. They make outstanding butlers and henchmen. There’s no ducking around a boggart. There’s no changing the mind of a boggart. Once it’s instructed to do something, it sticks with it until the tear-soaked end.
“Now just a minute,” I said hurriedly. “I understand you’re just following my cousin’s instructions, but being hefted up like a set of dumbbells in one’s own parlour is just not done.”
“It iz done,” the boggart countered. “I have done it. Juzt now. Zee?” He pumped me up and down to emphasize his point, getting in his reps at the same time, no doubt.
“Please set me down.”
The boggart ignored my pleas and turned resolutely towards my front door. Definitely a turn for the worse. I was to be carried through the streets like a prize beach ball, wearing nothing but my pyjama trousers and smoking jacket, to Cousin Bethulia’s offices. There, to be chained to a desk until my fingers were raw from writing enchantments, while Cousin Bethulia nitpicked everything from my fashion sense to my romantic failings.
If I was very lucky, the chains would be metaphoric.
This was turning out to be a full-steam-ahead, disaster-on-toast of a Monday morning. The horror!
Cheers!
Nick.
Can't wait to read more.
Your persistence is admirable. I once got 20,000 words into something before I decided I hated the entire concept of the story and just gave up. I haven't written anything of consequence since...Unless you count scathing indictments of modern pop culture, and the occasional argumentative paragraph about the state of the world.
I like it. I'm a veteran of the Xanth series, Terry Prachett and Douglas Adams. This tests favorably.