I’ve been lucky to have been entertained most royally by some kind friends over the past few days. Firstly, Sue Roebuck interviewed my character Philon. Then Kiran Hunter interviewed me!
Thanks folks for a good deal of fun.
Now here’s that meme.
This has been everywhere over the past few days so I thought I’d have a bash at it.
Rules
1. Go to page 77 (or 7th) of your current ms
2. Go to line 7
3. Copy down the next 7 lines – sentences or paragraphs – and post them as they’re written. No cheating.
4. Tag 7 other authors. {Yeah like that’s going to happen.This is a strictly voluntary game.}
And because I’m cruel like that you get not one Ms but two.
Firstly I’ve chosen 7 paragraphs from Page 77 of A Fierce Reaping – Cynfal, an experienced but down on his luck soldier, has struck lucky and is leading one wing of Troop Three in a cavalry force sent by Marro, King of Din Eidin, to drive the Saxons out of Northumbria. Here they are just setting out:
Cynfal laughed and turned to Gwion. “Let’s get this misbegotten bunch moving. Can’t you play us something more cheerful?”
Gwion tilted his head. “How about your favourite?” he asked. “When father went to the mountain?”
Cynfal leaned to slap the back of his head, but Gwion was already playing the catchy little tune and voices were chiming in with “Giff, Gaff, catch catch, fetch fetch.” Cynfal shrugged, laughed and began to sing as well.
The song was a good choice. Just as father called to his dogs Giff and Gaff, so Marro was sending them out on the hunt, “catch catch, fetch fetch”, hoping they would return with a border set beyond which the Saxons wouldn’t venture. Maybe Marro appreciated that too? He was smiling, frail and bony in the watery sunlight, and his lips moved in time to the words.
“Dear gods,” Cynon swept up and spun his horse to Cynfal’s side. He glared across at Gwion. “Couldn’t you have come up with something more dignified than that nursery rhyme?”
“Dignified?” Cynfal said. “I didn’t realise you wanted dignified. I thought you wanted ponies packed, whores wrangled, ditches dug, tents put up and general dying done. Nobody mentioned dignified.”
“Well it’s too late now,” Cynon said and grinned. “Everyone likes this song!” And he joined in loudly with “Catch, catch, fetch, fetch” as he rode back to the head of his troop.
And secondly here’s a section of page 77 of On A Lee Shore. During a dreadful storm Kit Penrose had to spend many long hours on deck and doesn’t quite remember how he got to bed.
Few wakings were as warm and comfortable as this one though confusing in many respects. From the even swing of his hammock he had supposed he was in his usual place in the foc’sle until he opened his eyes and saw white painted boards swimming with reflected light a couple of feet above his head. Kit frowned. He remembered laying down on a damp blanket on the floor and looking up to see the captain slumping back into his cot looking utterly exhausted and beaten. Denny had been holding their drenched oilskins away from his body with an expression of disgust on his wizened face, while Saunders was busy pouring a measure from a bottle into a small glass.
Now the room was, as far as he could see, empty. The cot was neatly made, the floor clean and dry. The Africa was leaning over a little, rising and falling evenly over the swells. There was no sound or sign that could cause any alarm but Kit was uneasy. There was something very wrong. He yawned, deciding that he would work out what it was in just a few moments. He stretched, groaned as strained muscles protested and dropped his hand to rub ribs bruised by the tiller.
Ah – so that was the problem. He had gone to sleep at least partially dressed. Now – he made a quick inventory – he was wearing drawers that he did not recognise, the waist tie done in a firm and seamanlike bowline.
Kit scowled, hating the idea of having been exposed and vulnerable and having known nothing about it. There was only one thing to do – get up and dressed as quickly as possible.
The hammock creaked as he left it and he stood on the oilskin and looked for his clothes. They were nowhere to be seen but neatly folded on the table was a shirt and a pair of the breeches that the captain favoured. Kit hesitated to pick them up, feeling it was a bit of an imposition, so looked out of the window instead. Another shock. Unless they had got horribly turned around it was morning, not long after dawn – a clear bright one too with a sky filled with racing clouds.
Behind him the latch clicked and he looked around. “OH!” Denny was staring at him. “Get your breeches on you ‘orrible soldier!” he said, his wheezy voice a sharp parade ground bark.
Kit grinned at him. “My breeches are gone,” he said. “Where did they go Denny? They can’t have walked off by themselves.”
Until Sunday the Hop Against Homophobia posts and contests will be open. May 17th was International Day Against Homophobia, but I think it’s something to bear in mind every day.
