Percy Rose is still guiding my pen, er, keyboard and I couldn’t be happier. I am having a lot of fun. I like my protagonist, a forty something woman who is a reluctant psychic. She is quite eccentric, bloody minded and an expert at Krav Maga, the Israeli Self-defence technique. I hope you will take the time to get to know her when I introduce her to you later in the year. I’m changing the title of Book I but haven’t settled on anything just yet. Stay tuned.
Book II has begun to allow itself to be committed to the page and is developing nicely. I’d like to have Books II and III finished before I put up the first so that I can publish them in fairly short order and be writing the following ones as I go. How many? I have no idea ash the moment. I guess that will depend on how they are received.
I have a question…what do you think about swearing in a book? This series is set in North Queensland and is unapologetically Australian; and we do say Bloody a lot, use Bastard often and Shit frequently. Should I use them less and just salt one or two every now and then or remain true to my characters and have then use the words they would use in reality?
I suppose I’ll have to wait to see what my Beta readers say. Sigh.
When I do release Selma into the world, I have decided to offer, for free, a collection of my death related short stories and poems as a thank you for purchasing her book. I am thinking of calling the collection Murder, Mayhem and Other Weird Stuff. What do you think? Oh, come on, I need help here.
What can you expect in the stories? The unexpected, of course. Some stories are quite dark, some facetious and others just downright well, weird. Here is sample of one of the short, short stories:-
He watches through almond eyes, hooded to hide their extraordinary colour — one green, the other blue. They, with his strange head shape, should make him stand out in any crowd, but his ability to remain absolutely still, while noting every movement, every change around him, makes him almost invisible. He becomes one with the rock he sits on. Others go about their business oblivious to the darkness in their midst. He is supremely confident.
He tenses in anticipation. His quarry is near.
The enemy moves silently, stalking his prey — unaware that he has become the hunted. He moves his head right and left, searching for hidden danger, while closing in on unsuspecting innocence. He is a cold-blooded killer. He sights his target and, in his turn, becomes still — every muscle and nerve taut.
So totally focussed is he on his victim, he fails to note his unmoving nemesis, fails to sense the slight narrowing of eyes that follow his every move, fails to detect the smoothest of movements, fails to hear the soft footfall behind him, barely has time to acknowledge the shadow of his danger.
His neck is broken.
The Siamese Assassin hefts the body, to carry it back to his master. He sits back, a smug curl to his lips. The Boss, with hands on hips, roars…
“Hugh, your bloody cat’s got another snake!”
I did warn you. Ciao for now, Rosa, er, Percy Rose.