Green Man


See I'm a plotter. A dyed in the wool, obsessive, detail orientated, what colour socks are they wearing plotter. By the time I actually start to write in Word or Scrivener I've usually spent several months thinking and over thinking and putting it all on paper so my first draft is more or less already done in my notes, I just need to string it all together.

I'm a bit like someone who is putting together Ikea furniture with all the parts carefully laid out and all the tools to hand, including that annoying little allen key thing, and a copy of the instructions blown up to A3 so it's nice and easy to read.

So there I am, carefully assembling my KLEPPSTAN wardrobe. Everything seems to be going OK. Then - oh shit - I find that one of the doors is from a BESTA cupboard, i HAVE LIATORP bookcase shelves with FJÄLLBO supports and the whole thing is running away from me on OMBYTE castors. There's a load of other things too but I don't recognise their names - Tillsyn? Hostmys? - or know what they do.

All I can do is keep screwing it all together and hope for the best.
Green Man

It's nearly November!!

And we all know what happens in November, don't we?


I thought I'd have a bash at it this year. Probably not officially and with no expectation of being a Winner, but I have 2 WIPs that need their word counts boosted.

So which shall i concentrate on? 1930s spies or contemporary romance?
Green Man

Another great migration

I started my Dreamwidth account several years ago with everyone else when it looked like LJ's new masters might cut up rough about LGBT+ content, but not much seemed to happen.

Now there's another great migration so here we go again. I'll try to remember to update more often.
Green Man

Rainbow Snippets

rainbow snippets

Back again with the usual post of six, approx, sentences from my current WIP, Calon Lan.

Rainbow Snippets is a Facebook group that convenes once a week to share bits of stories, published, unpublished or works in progress, for comment, constructive criticism or because we just feel like sharing. It's good fun and a great way of getting to know people and showing support. Click the graphic above if you have Facebook and fancy joining in the fun. There should be a post where everyone has deposited their link for this week.

So - my six, as usual following directly on from last week's. Farmer Nye is bemoaning the difficulty in working the land when all the men have gone off to war.

“I wanted to talk to you about that.” Alwyn’s voice, so rarely used it was just a gruff whisper, was so unexpected that it cut sharply over Nye’s grumbling. “I have a friend who needs a job. Was in my platoon. He’s home, not fit to go down the pit.”

“A miner? What use will a miner be?”</a>
Green Man

Rainbow Snippets

rainbow snippets

Better late than never, I guess?

Here's my snippet for this week, carrying on directly from the last one I posted here. Bethan is observing Alwyn crossing the yard towards the house.

Her adored big brother, dark and quick, had turned heads, but now he could barely catch anyone's eye, even those who loved him. She studied him, his mouth drawn awry by the scars that seamed the right side of his face, his once smooth skin like old oak bark, the stub of an ear. He was too far away for her to see the drooping lid that covered the clouded remains of the eye that had once been so bright. She suppressed a shiver and got up to fetch his plate.

Alwyn ate quickly, just nodding as Nye complained about the new man at the chapel and how he was playing ducks and drakes with the Sunday services, and again when Nye commented on the high prices for fodder.

“They say it’s all going to France to feed the draft beasts - better prices from the War Office than from honest farmers - and how are we supposed to work our acreage when they’ve taken the best horses and called up most of the men?"

More next week. xx
Green Man

This week's snippet

rainbow snippets

Here's this week's snippet. Another excerpt from Calon Lan, my WIP set in 1916. Slightly more than six sentences because this weeks are very short. Nye, who has a considerable chip on his shoulder, is trying to excuse his bad language:

“I would have gone, you know, but farming –“
“I’m glad you didn’t. Look at poor Alwyn.”
“Listen more like.” Nye cut more ham and dipped it in the piccalilli. “How many times did he wake you last night?”
“Only twice.” Bethan looked to the window again and there was Alwyn strolling towards the house, open letter tilted to catch the light for his one good eye.
Green Man

Still Nanowrimoing

I haven't much else to talk about at the moment. I'll be back in work on Monday, pretending I want to be there, so for now I'm making the most of my writing time.

I've just broken the 35k mark

*bounces carefully in chair*

and here's an excerpt. Our hero has been to the barber shop and gets more than just a haircut: Collapse )
Green Man


I've realised now that I'm writing a series. Not something I expected but I have this notebook called Ideas and I bung every little inkling of a story that I get in there with notes for a title, characters, places, occupations and how they all fit together.

Last week I realised just how many of them are set in or around a small Welsh borders town and satellite villages - they say you should write what you know - and I also realised that it wouldn't take much effort to fit them together. If Mal and Rob in The Bones of Our Fathers need a solicitor, why not let Leo the solicitor from Northern Light serve their needs? If Leo needs a haircut why not let Terry from Untitled but there's a Poodle do it. If someone is stupid enough to pick a fight with Terry over his poodle, he's probably a bully and may well pick on poor lonely little Dai Beynon from Untitled Paranormally Murdery Thing and have his arse handed to him by the silent but incredibly dangerous David Ashton from The Language of Flowers. It could be fun to populate this small country town But I'd best get this one done first.

28359 so far today :) and here's an excerpt: Collapse )
Green Man

Halfway *chair dances*

And repeating it here - 25294 words - because that graphic will change next time I update.

I'm about halfway through the story too and have written the first Big Misunderstanding™, a trope I really don't much like but in this case it's more of an ethical disagreement than done to make the relationship more iffy.

Anyhow, here's a sample, all unshod, uncurried and straight off the moor:

It was trowel work, quick and satisfying and he was soon able to see the slabs in their entirety. They were a lot wider than he had thought they would be and he realised he'd be unlikely to be able to move them alone. Luckily Sion and Rob were still close to hand and each man fitted a hand into the overlap of the lid with the supporting stone and stood ready to lift on Mal's work. He held up a length of two by one.

"Just lift the first one a couple of inches," he asked, "so I can slip this in to support the lid. I want to get a couple of pictures. If we can document the whole process it could be good publicity for the site." And for the museum, went without saying.

"Ready, Rob?" Sion grinned at Mal. "On three then - one, two, three."

The stone lifted smoothly just a little soil tumbling into the void below, and Mal slotted the piece of wood in about a foot. "Lovely," he said and took a penlight from his pocket. "Want the first look boys?"

"Hell yeah," Rob said and Sion grinned at him and shouldered into the space between him and Mal.

Mal turned on the little torch and directed the beam into the gap. He smiled to hear two indrawn breaths. It was such a thrill to be the first to see something that had been hidden in the ground for centuries. he remembered his first time well. The dry earth under his knees, sun on his back, the grit on his tongue as a breeze laden with the scent of thyme and seaweed blew dust across the rocky Aegean peninsula. Then he had moved some more dust and and been looking into the face of a man long dead, just bones but broad browed and strong jawed. Moved, Mal had murmured, "Hello brother."

It was a long moment before Rob or Sion stirred.

"Oh wow," Rob whispered, his voice a little shaky. "Hello you. Pleased to meetcha."

"Mal.” Sion looked across at him, eyes wide. “You got to see this."
Green Man

Nanowrimo again

Another quick update. As off last night I have 17187 words, some of which will have to go as they don't do much but add to the word count. BUT they were quite fun to write.

The story is tentatively called "The Bones of our Fathers". I googled it and there's nothing else with that title other than a Men's Rights Activist page on Facebook and I'm not too worried about the two being confused. The story has also informed me that instead of being the little standalone comedy short I thought I was writing, it is in fact the first part of a series of seven interlinked comedy novellas about the relationships of a group of gay men in a small country town each of which more or less standalone, but contribute a bit to an overall plot. Some of the stories are already partially written and some are already planned. It's a nice thought, anyway.

Because it's nice to have a proper beginning to a project, here are the first few paragraphs:

Mal supposed that she was gorgeous. Forever legs in tight jeans emphasised by those stupid Ugg Boots, a tailored blouse clinging to, to his eyes, impossible breasts, fine flyaway blonde locks floating on the breeze like a shampoo advert and a pretty face currently obscured by the camera she was holding to record the event. Yes Mrs Gaskell was, probably, gorgeous. And the reason Mal suspected this was from the hungry wistful expressions of the faces of the men standing around him on this Godforsaken hillside, listening to Mr Gaskell drone on about what an asset this development would be to the community, while this lovely trophy wife half his age drifted around recording the event for posterity.

"Shouldn’t be allowed.”

Mal looked over his shoulder at a heavy set man in a hard hat who was staring at Mrs Gaskell as though he could eat her with a spoon. “God, look at that arse."

"Oh, yeah I am," muttered the younger taller man beside him and Mal saw with utter shock that he wasn't looking at the girl. The young man caught Mal's eye and gave him a huge white grin before letting one eyelid droop in a wink. Mal looked away hurriedly, not quite able to believe it.

"Rob," the older man warned, "don't frighten the archaeologist."