Things have been a bit quiet on here in the last few months. I do apologise but I’ve had the mother of all excuses. Not writing related I’m afraid, no sudden confessions of fantastic contracts etc, but an even more exciting announcement, to me at least.
Oh yeah. To say I am excited would a huge understatement. I couldn’t have asked for anything so very special. I’m currently 21 weeks pregnant and the last scan showed my two little people to be happy and healthy and doing everything they are supposed to do.
My eldest is excited and is already making plans for where the pair should sleep and sit in the car etc, not sure about Nancy, thinks she’s a little to understand exactly why mummy’s tummy suddenly looks like she’s eaten all the pies and then some.
So, don’t fret, I’m still writing. I’m about 15K into the next story and I’m currently 50% of the way through editing Braving Madness (which happily isn’t as bad as I had feared, well bits of it are, but some of it is pretty entertaining,) with the hopes of sending it out early next year and getting myself an agent. I’ll try and get on here when I can but as you might expect I’m pretty tired at the moment and that’s not a situation that’s going to improve for the considerable future. (For example it took me ten minutes to get into my support tights this morning…)
So Merry Christmas, I’m off to deliver a few last cards and presents, but I’ll leave you with a snippet from chapter 4 of Held in the Balance. This is Lord Curzon’s point of view at his engagement ball to Miss Lydia Taunton.
Simon stood at the far side of the ballroom, his back an inch from the ivory wainscoting, close enough to make the position defensible against the milling crowds of feathered and turbaned frights without taking advantage of the bevelled sill at hip level, a penance for his earlier lapse of concentration.
A dark figure made his way towards him with a determined stride. Simon slow breathed air into his lungs and prepared to talk to his cousin’s new husband, as if the evening hadn’t gone badly enough already. Carrington handed him a glass of champagne and Simon nodded his thanks, taking the smallest of sips of the bubbling wine, enough to be polite but no more. His entire six months on the continent had passed in an alcoholic haze, these days a cup of tea or coffee was more agreeable to his palate and conscious.
“Curzon.” Carrington leant against the wall, a slight wrinkle in the smooth line of his coat, the creases about cravat all suggestive of a bout of physical activity since dressing. Simon had no intention of trying to detect similar discrepancies to Betty’s dress, one didn’t look for tell-tale signs of sexual satisfaction in a woman who had until recently been promised to him instead. Three months and so much had changed.