CHAPTER 11- GOODBYE TO ST. ANNE
She ran through the rain, her face and arms aching from the sky’s lashing. Once her foot disappeared into a quagmire, and she sank three feet, screaming and scrabbling for solid ground. She pulled herself out again and half ran half staggered back to the cottage to where Doctor Toureil sat in the doorway, his face buried in his hands.
He looked up at her approach, and there were tears in his eyes. Great, kind tears.
For a second they simply stared at each other, the old weeping man and the tiny girl, caked in mud, her red hair plastered black to her face, her green eyes stained bloodshot red.
The Doctor simply shook his head.
A very big and heartfelt thank you to everyone who nominated me for the Blog Awards Ireland 2014. I’m delighted to report that Unshaved Mouse has made the long list for Best Humour Blog and Best Art & Culture Blog. This means three things;
1) As people now think this is an Art and Culture Blog, we need to class up this joint. No more cussin’ in the comments section and you all need to start spittin’ in the spittoon like I asked ye.
2) As with last year, all nominated blogs are eligible for the Best Blog Post award, which is decided by popular vote. In the coming weeks I’ll be asking you all to vote for me whenever you can which of course means…
3) Weekly updates. Not weekly reviews unfortunately (guys, I’m only flesh and blood) but I do have some articles lined up to go in between the regular reviews. And of course, The Hangman’s Daughter will now be going up a chapter a week, starting tonight.
Thanks a million guys, you’re amazing.
Aaaaaaaaargh and so on.
So it seems I’ve made a bit of a clanger. For the last few months I’ve been updating the blog fortnightly with chapters from my novel The Hangman’s Daughter which many of you have been very kindly reading and critiquing. It was pointed out to me, however, that I’ve actually been updating with excerpts from my original draft, not the newer one. This is not really a big deal as both drafts start out pretty much identical but there is a fairly substantial chunk in Chapter 5 that acts as the first bit of foreshadowing of the book’s main villain that I left out. I’ve put it back in now (it’s everything after “silent acrimony”) so if you want to go and read that you should be up to speed. Also, it’s been pointed out to me that my habit of posting short chapters that typically end in cliff-hangers once every two weeks is the kind of thing that gets you dragged before the Hague (and also would have us finishing the first book sometime in mid-2016) so I’ve decided from now on there’s going to be a new chapter every week, updating on Saturdays.
Oh, and if you wanna get caught up? Got your back, bro.
Hello peoples of the net!
Erik’s audio reviews for Melody Time and The Adventures of Ichabod and Mr Toad are now up, so be sure to give them a listen. To anyone who’s recently followed the blog, Erik Copper has been doing audio versions of my Disney reviews. We’re now getting to the point where the blog stopped being “movie reviews” and became more me deciding that I didn’t need no goddam anti-psychotic medication and we’ve started to realise that a lot of the comedy from this period kind of needs a visual element (Erik’s fantastic vocal skills notwithstanding). Now, we used to have a guy who did video versions of Erik’s audio versions of my text reviews (keep up damn it) but
he betrayed us and turned to evil he unfortunately had to give it up for study commitments. So we’re now looking for someone with editing skills to adapt the reviews into a video form. Now before you say “no”, let me assure you: Yes, the work is hard. But on the other hand, there is no money.
However, if you’re someone who’s wants to hone their editing skills before an enthusiastic and always growing audience (cough cough freshly pressed cough cough)…eh, you could do worse. Here’s a link to Mauricio’s videos to give you an idea of what’s gone before and if you think it’s something you’d enjoy send me an email at firstname.lastname@example.org and we’ll take it from there.
CHAPTER 10: THE SHADE
She lay there in the mud for a few minutes, not quite sure if she had gone mad. After all, she had seen some incredible things when she had had the fever. But the figure in front of her was real. She was seeing it before her eyes, not in her head. Slowly, she clambered to her feet, rivers of muddy water running off her now thoroughly soiled white night-dress. She took five steps, and stood at the right hand side of the figure. From where she was, she could just about see the tip of an elegant chin, the end of a nose, but everything else hidden by the folds of the hood.
“Hello.” said Marie quietly.
The figure started, and Marie realised that she had taken him by surprise. If this person was what she thought he was, then how was that possible?
(DISCLAIMER: This blog is not for profit. All images and footage used below are property of their respective companies unless stated otherwise. I do not claim ownership of this material. New to the blog? Start at the start with Snow White.)
- The Script
- Randy Goddamn Newman
CHAPTER 9: ANGEL IN THE RAIN
The front door was bashed open with a thunder clap, and Marie shot upright in bed.
From behind her bedroom door she could hear raised voices, something heavy being carried, grunts and curses, and she felt a stab of ice in her as she thought the cottage was being robbed. Then, her door swung open and she screamed as the grizzled face of Sylvie’s father, the blacksmith D’Arbe, shot into her room like a jack from a box.
She screamed and he shouted in fright before realising who she was. Then he muttered to himself “Wrong room…” and was gone as suddenly as he had entered, leaving the door to slowly close of its own inertia.
But right before it closed, Marie could see through the rapidly shrinking opening a mob of townsmen carrying her father into his bedroom, behind the, Toureil barking orders “Lay him down on the bed! Careful! Careful you asses! He’s not a sack of potatoes!” And she had just enough time to see her father’s face, white as marble save for the hideous red scar running down his nose and his blue eyes lolling sightlessly, and although she did not actually hear herself, she screamed at the sight of him. And then, with malicious relish, the door clicked shut, cutting her off from the kitchen, and leaving her in the darkness again.