Chapter 1 Part 2: New Faces

Part 2 of the first chapter of my WIP novel. Click here or visit my recent posts to see part 1. Likes and follows greatly appreciated, as is any constructive feedback!

“Gentlemen,” a male voice said sharply, coming from behind Max.

In front of Max, Lane stopped, straightening up with a scowl. Max turned around sharply. A man in his fifties, wearing a crisp black suit with a tie the same shade of grey as his hair, stood in the doorway to the next room, to the left of the marble fireplace, with an expression of mild exasperation. 

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Chapter 1: His Sister’s Envoy

This is the opening from one of my WIP (work in progress) novels. I plan to post following chapters in the coming weeks. I hope you enjoy. Constructive feedback, likes and follows are greatly appreciated.

(Yes, one character in particular was inspired by the Netflix version of The Umbrella Academy: no points for guessing who).

Max put his earbuds in, deliberately breathing slowly, tying up his heartbeat to the rhythm of the music. He dared a glance sideways. The boy leant against the wall adjacent to the counter, arms folded, watching Max and pretending that he wasn’t.

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Short Story – Friends Like These

Note: This fictional story is a departure from my usual content in that it is not related to my ASD. I have aspirations of becoming an author/novel editor, and so I plan to use this blog to upload some of my creative writing in addition to my usual posts. This short story does form part of a wider fantasy narrative I’ve constructed, but still functions as a stand-alone. I would welcome any comments and feedback!

Friends Like These

I still have no idea how Wilbur managed to get us those jobs, working as servants for the wealthiest guy in the area. William Rainier was an unknown; a dark horse millionaire, appearing one day having just bought a string of three-story properties on the main street. But now, as we walked down the street in our stiff-collared uniforms, Wilbur’s still always somehow neater than mine, fitting him better where mine hung loose, I supposed I should be grateful for Wilbur’s knack for talking his way into things. The pay was good: we could afford decent food for the first time in a while. We had modest accommodation now. It beat being on the streets, and the risky business of pickpocketing. 

Of course, it still wasn’t enough for Wilbur. Nothing was ever enough for Wilbur. 

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