#WritingWednesday: In The Cities Of Cloaks And Daggers
Happy Wednesday! And Happy New Year! I hope it’s an utterly fabulous one for you all!
I’m using Wednesdays to share some short bursts of the stories I’m working on… because that way, I figure, I’ll be motivated to keep working on them
Right now (besides the Smith and Skarry adventures, which get quite enough attention in my other posts) I’m working on an LGBTQIA+ Mythpunk standalone novel called In The Cities Of Cloaks And Daggers whose central themes are identity, voice and power.
It’s based in a world where Time grows like grass and is harvested, where people of the four cities – Gnarl, Ash, Slain and Caligari – wear their whole lives on their backs in the form of patchwork story Cloaks. Those who don’t have a Cloak, have no clue as to who they are. Those who have Cloaks guard them jealously for fear of the desperate Daggers who would steal them for themselves.
The novel is divided into four books – The Book Of Bujo (which btw is a complicated word whose closest meaning would be heist/ joke/ prank/ trick), The Book Of Scales, The Book of Feathers and The Book Of End – but in the opening the reader finds themselves in a burned down library where the pages of all these books have been scattered, charred and disarrayed across the floor so the narrative has to be pieced together in fragments and the time line dawns slowly rather than being obvious from the start.
It’s ambitious, I’m scared about failing at the vision I’m aiming for, but I love pushing the boundaries of what I can do and I’ve done similar things with short stories so I really hope I can make it work, let’s see… This is the next extract, you can find the previous part here: #WritingWednesday: In The Cities Of Cloaks And Daggers
THE BOOK OF END
“What are you three doing out there?”
The children’s mother sighed. They were always digging. Not much else to do when you lived in a field. The hose she called a tap spat and sputtered a sporadic vomit of clean-ish water into the tin bucket she called a sink.
An hour passed.
“Are you alright out there?”
“Yes. Still digging.”
She began to pull various items of clothing off the piece of string which ran from one end of the caravan ceiling to the other and folded them neatly, placing each one into the large cardboard boxes she called wardrobes.
Another hour passed.
“Where are you digging to? Mars?”
It was getting colder. Summer had slipped away from the party unnoticed beneath a cloak of shale coloured cloud and was now mocking them from the opposite side of reality. The day was golden, the sky clear and blue but the wind danced with icy toes and wicked fingers across the hilltop and tonight its consort Frost would join the revels, she was sure.
She reached up on tiptoe to a piece of driftwood, which she called a shelf and had nailed onto the wall of the caravan at an impractical height, and brought down a stack of knitted polygons which she called blankets.
She neatly laid a blanket over the eiderdowns of the two bunk-beds, a third she folded into a wad and tucked into the large drawer she called a cot-bed and the last she laid over the piece of plywood she sometimes called a sofa and at other times a bed.
She poured boiling water into an empty bean tin she called a mug, dropped in three teabags, seated herself on the multifunctional piece of plywood and opened a bundle of paper bound in leather she called a book.
Three hours passed and then there was a knock at the door.
There you go, I hope you enjoyed reading the next little extract and thankyou so so much for taking the time to read along and for all your kind ‘likes’ and words of support and encouragement- they keep me going! 🙂 What are you writing at the moment? Feel free to share links to your own works in progress or Writing Wednesday posts in the comments 🙂
Blessings on all your writing endeavours!