Writing in the Dark

photo credit: Cedness0 Dans l'attente via photopin (license)
photo credit: Cedness0 Dans l’attente via photopin (license)

Just a quick update on the progress of the project formerly known as Watchers in the Dark; well the main thing is it is still progressing, despite the best efforts of that amorphous enemy known as ‘Real Life’ and my butterfly mind flitting between different projects (back writing in this particular universe again after nearly thirty years).

Then there is a new business idea I am researching, I can’t say much about it – beyond the statement it will happen in 2017.

At times it feels like I’m juggling a lot of man-eating crocodiles, keeping all these different projects up in the air.

The episodic nature of the genesis of ‘Watchers’ has helped in keeping it moving forward, I originally conceived of it as a tale of approximately eight or ten parts, meaning the target has mostly been only to get that episode completed. Torturing my main protagonist in as an inventive manner as possible. More vaguely, having an impression how Act One will play out and a direction of travel for Act Two, which happens to be north in case you are wondering.

Beyond that, I don’t have a plan apart from keeping on writing until the bitter end.


In the spirit of #WIPpet Wednesday here is an extract from episode 23 of the draft –


“You’re still going to be weak. It was a bad fever.

“To be honest I’m not sure how you survived. If my Da was here he’d have a better idea, but I’m not the healer that he is.”

Gar wondered if she had been ill herself the leather jerkin she wore hung loosely from her slim frame, as she leaned over him placing branches of fern on top of him covering his nakedness. And her eyes which he thought were a sparkling blue, were only dull and grey.

But then so much had happened, from the Lawgiver’s death, his escape from his pursuers, to seeing Kel making a pact with the slavers. That he struggled to remembered it all.

The woman’s cool hand rested on his brow.

He remembered her though, he remembered being alone with her.

“Who was the child?” he asked, “The child I heard singing.”

She turned her head away before speaking, “Fever dreams ignore them, you heard nothing.”


© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.


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