If you’ve been following me on Twitter you’d know that lately my writing has been focused around a single project: a novel. Usually my focus on long term pieces of writing like this don’t tend to last, but I’m currently at 21,469 words and I’m working at an average of a thousand words a day. In order to keep content coming, I’ll be posting bits and pieces of the first draft on here as I write. Nothing too big, but enough to make you guys feel loved. These posts will be tagged with TMDMIL (an acronym of the working title).
So what’s it about? Well without being too spoilery, it’s the story of a disgraced war veteran struggling to find his place in the world and how he comes to join a criminal empire. It’s a reworking of the Arthur Conan Doyle’s character Colonel Sebastian Moran and Professor James Moriarty. Though I have written fan fiction before, this is for all intents and purposes a serious imagining of the two characters in a contemporary London setting. The genre falls somewhere around the crime / action brackets and is LGBT fiction.
Below is a section cut from Seb and Jim’s first meeting, where Jim offers Sebastian a job.
“Are you going to try and tell me these people deserve to die?” I interrupt at this point.
Moriarty purses his lips, “I won’t insult your intelligence, Moran. I ask that you do the same.”
I raise my hands in mock surrender and let him continue.
“If you have any moral opposition, now is the time to voice it. It’s murder you’ll be hired for.”
He waits a few seconds. Probably ready to have my throat slit the moment I object. I keep my face passive, telling myself I’ll play along until I can get away.
“I was a solider for ten years. You’ll have to find something more grizzly than murder to scare me.”
Steepling his fingers together, Moriarty leans forward, “You’d be assigned to our sniper unit. A small team. Elite. The others are all trained professionals, but none have your experience.”
There are few who do.
“Where would I be posted?”
The corner of Moriarty’s mouth twitches a little and I wonder if he thinks I’m too eager. I need to tone it down.
“You’d be based in London, but missions have the potential to be,” he pauses, “further afield than that.”
In a way, he’s offering me the same thing that the army did. Travel the world and kill for a pay check. I won’t lie, I’ve missed it. I miss having a team at my back, the weight of a gun lying in my palm and someone to give the orders. I’m a dog bred for war and now here I am, masterless, packless.
But I still don’t trust Moriarty.
That’s it for this post. You can contact me on here or on my twitter with any questions about my novel or general questions about writing. I’d be happy to help.