A little literary diversion - Chapter 1: Gabriel's Game

My theme for 2015 is 

The Authorpreneur Almanac:

365 Adventures in Writing and Entrepreneurship

Tips, ideas, inspiration and features for writers who are also entrepreneurs aka Authorpreneur's

I've had several lovely people tell me that they've read Solomon's Secrets, were hooked and now want to read the next one. 

Well, I'm afraid I'm still writing the next book, Gabriel's Game. 


Gabriel's Game will be two books in one. The first novella is; 

Gabriel's Game, Part 1: The White Queen 

I estimate it will be published around Easter 2015.

The second novella will be;  

Gabriel's Game, Part 2: The Black Knight 

Estimated for completion in 2016   

But it is horrible having to wait for something, so here's a special treat for you. It's only the first draft, so may change a little, but here is the first chapter of 

Gabriel's Game, Part 1: The White Queen 

 

Nicosia, August 2014

Clive Owen as Tom Sheridan (source: www.flickr.com)

Tom Sheridan pushed himself from the chair and shook his legs out, wrung his hands, rolled his shoulders and made for the window.

Sat for hours, he’d slept there last night, only got up once to go to the bathroom and drink a bland vending machine coffee from a polystyrene cup.

At the window, he could feel the heat of the day building and filtering in through the blinds. He twiddled the plastic pole and the louvers opened, painting stripes of warm daylight across the bedroom. He squinted against the brightness, yawned and rubbed his chin, scratching at three days’ worth of growth. He ran his fingers through his hair, shaking his hands through it, ruffling it, it felt sweaty and heavy on his scalp. Everything felt heavy.

The chemical stench of the hospital seeped into his skin, he looked away from the view over the dusty car park and looked down at himself. He sniffed and turned his nose up, “Ew!” his own body odour masked by the stench of sickness in the air.

These last days had been a haze. His life, such as it had been, was on hold. He’d come back to Cyprus as soon as the doctor called, flown in on the first available flight. The doctor had said she’d regained consciousness briefly and asked one question; ‘Where’s Tom?’

He shook his leaden limbs out with a deep sigh and looked back across the room. A few seconds to breathe, then time to resume his vigil.

She hadn’t moved. The blue waffle blanket continued to lift and fall steadily, the low regular beep of machinery always in the background, white noise, he hardly noticed its rhythm. It had been constant and steady since he’d arrived from London - it was a good thing, it meant her condition was stable.

Tendrils of wires and tubes trussed her into the bed, her mass of blonde curls spilling out over the pillows, taking root, part of the machine. 
He crossed the room, her features frozen in time. As he approached, her eyelids flickered. He hesitated, immobilised by the sudden change. A change so minute he questioned whether he’d imagined it. Closer, he dragged the chair to the bed, fell into it and shuffled forwards, a mounting sadness raking up his throat. Slumping over, he rested his head on the folds of the blanket and it let it loll against her hip.

Moisture blurred his vision. Tears gathered on his lashes and swelled in his throat. A globe rolled down his cheek, traced a path around his jaw.

“I’m so sorry, Sasha,” he mumbled.

More tears chased the first. He swept them aside, swallowed them back. This wasn’t the time, he had to focus. He had work to do and an impossible choice to make.

Despite getting plenty of sleep, he was weary, his strength fading, anxiety and despair sapping his energy. His eyes drifted closed and he breathed in the residue of her familiar smell, nuzzling his face against her, a pet seeking affection. He wanted to feel close to her, to connect to her silent body, to know that she was still in there, fighting. Always fighting.

He was jolted awake by something knocking his shin. He glanced down, it was his rucksack. Whatever he decided, the tools of his trade were all in there.

Should he run? Should he carry out his orders? Should he take her with him?

My Characters  

I'm sure many writers picture particular actors when they imagine their characters. If you can imagine who might play your hero's and heroine's if your story ever became a movie, it can be a really helpful way to describe the way your characters talk, move and carry themselves. 

When I imagine Tom Sheridan, I see Clive Owen.

I find it useful to have a Pinterest board of all the actors in my stories open on one screen as I write on the other. 

If my latest book, Gabriel's Game, ever were made into a movie this cast list would be amazing!

  Follow Amy Morse's board Gabriel's Game: Characters on Pinterest.