Heat, Fatigue and Victorian Clothing

The UK has just experienced the hottest July in years and everyone’s really enjoying the summery weather.

Except those of us who aren’t.

Most people with neurological disorders find their symptoms are exacerbated by heat. In other words, we’re the grumpy ones who complain it’s too hot when everyone else is hunting for skimpy clothing and slapping on the factor 15. Or in my case, sweltering under heavy clothes to keep the rays off my vampiric skin that burns at the first touch of sunlight.

MSers commonly list fatigue as their worst symptom. It’s also the hardest
to explain. It isn’t “feeling a bit tired” or “tiring easily” – it’s more like something suddenly stealing all your energy without warning and leaving you unable to do anything. No, getting more sleep doesn’t prevent it, not does taking things easy for a few days. And it usually gets worse when we’re too warm. One of my MonSter’s favourite tricks is to lie in wait while I cook dinner and pounce so I’m too fatigued to lift the fork to my mouth. It’s debilitating, annoying and can be downright embarrassing.
So why do I agree to attend an event in Victorian-style clothing on a hot day? It could be that I don’t want to let the organiser down. Or it could be plain old-fashioned masochism. Or maybe it’s because I’m too bl##dy-minded to give in to the MonSter today.

Whatever the reason, looking forward to seeing some more lunatics in Steampunk attire at the Punknic. And I’ll try not to be too grumpy!

BTW. Chrystal Heart is at the reduced price of £2.99 for the weekend. (Amazon willing!)
Click Here

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Busy times!

Goody Bag 130219

I’m finalising the text for my book, ready to send to the printers. The book cover is ready and I’m pleased with how that’s looking. The press release is being circulated to various media outlets and it’s all getting very real! Pre-orders are trickling in and I’ve just been told our local libraries are ordering copies (they handle orders centrally, so I get a single request for all the branches). I’m involved in running several events at the local library over the next few months, and I’ll be able to sell books at some of these. Not that I ever do a “hard sell” – I’m a writer, not a salesperson!

In fact, if I had to make a living from my books, I’d go hungry an awful lot of the time. But that’s a story for another day!

I’ve converted the text file into the appropriate page size for the first time today, so I can now say it’ll be 320 pages long. Give or take a few, ‘cos there’s all the extra stuff that goes at the front and tweaks to the formatting can change the count by a couple of pages. It’s about 92,000 words long, if anyone’s interested.

So, what’s happening with these promo goodies?

Well, the picture shows the current contents of the full goody bag. People who crowdfunded me for £50 or more last Autumn will get one of these bags with all the contents displayed, as well as paperback and electronic copies of the book. And one or two other little bonuses that are in the process of being produced. Some of the goodies will also be given away to anyone who buys a paperback copy of Chrystal Heart at one of my promo events this year. There are four events arranged so far, more to be added as I finalise details. The latest details will always be on my Amazon UK Author Page (look up one of my books and click on my name, or go direct to http://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B0034PC6DM ). And anyone who’s pre-ordered a paperback copy will get something extra in the parcel when it arrives.

Told you I’d go hungry if I depended on my book sales for an income.

Chrystal Heart will also be available for Kindle. Details to follow when I’ve done the necessary formatting and uploaded it to Amazon.

Tomorrow is Chrystal’s birthday. She’ll be 189. That’s a lot of candles!

Protected: Chrystal Heart Prologue 2

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Chrystal Heart Prologue 1

My first novel will be published in March, 2013. I will post a few teasers here for followers of this blog.

Feel free to leave comments and I hope you enjoy meeting Chrystal.

Prologue
October, 1851

Philomena Mercedes Carstairs slipped away from the crowds leaving Hyde Park, straightening the hat pinned over her neat chignon. She twitched her short cape into place over her tight, grey jacket and turned into an unlit side street, away from the throngs of merrymakers flooding towards purveyors of refreshments on more fashionable streets. Although the coffee houses claimed to welcome ladies as well as gentlemen, she knew from experience that the more popular ones would not serve a woman on her own. Especially when more rewarding customers were queueing for places at their tables. She would avoid the crowds, following the back streets to her lodging-house and brew coffee on the stove there.
Unbeknown to Philomena, her passage did not go unnoticed. Three shadows detached themselves from the heavy darkness beneath an overhanging wooden building. One figure turned down an alleyway, hurrying to get ahead of her, whilst two wraith-like others slid silently in her wake, careful to prevent her discovering them.
“ ‘Scuse me, Missus,” said a voice in the darkness beside her.
“Oh,” Philomena stopped, her hand rising to her chest where her heart thudded against her corset.
“ ‘M sorry, Miss. Didn’t mean to startle ya,” said the man.
Now that Philomena had turned, she could see the man more clearly. He would have been almost as tall as her, had he not stooped so. His coat was well-cut but worn at the cuffs and stained in many places, while his rough accent spoke of life in the murkier parts of the city. She gathered her scattered wits enough to smile at the stranger.
“Can I help you, Sir?” she enquired.
“Wondered if you might spare a few coppers for an ex-army man down on his luck?” said the man, moving closer.
“Oh, of course,” Philomena lifted her bag for her coin purse. A sudden sound from behind made her turn. Seeing another figure reaching for her, she ducked and spun about, backing away until the back of her bell-skirted dress touched the dirty brick wall, her bosom heaving with fear.
Footpads. And I let them trap me, she thought. Someone tore the velvet cape off her shoulders. A hand reached for her bag and she grabbed the wrist, twisting to throw her slender weight against it. She heard a satisfying yelp and released the damaged limb, looking around for the second assailant. He blocked her escape but made no attempt to engage. As she looked for an opportunity to break past, a third figure came running and Philomena found herself, once again, backed against the wall with her two opponents facing her more warily this time. The man whose wrist she had injured was pulling himself to his feet, a knife in his left hand.
Made of stern stuff, these bandits, she thought as she searched for a way to evade their tightening circle. She pulled the purse from her bag and threw it behind the men, where it fell with a loud rattle.
“That is all I have. Take it and be damned,” she shouted.
The nearer two men hesitated, glancing towards the purse, but the injured one never took his eyes off hers.
“I think we’ll take more than yer purse, Missus,” he said.
“I have nothing further!”
None of the men spoke, but the knifeman moved in, the other two flanking him and thwarting any possible egress for her. He lunged with the blade and she barely managed to knock it away with her right arm. There was a loud crack, her frilled sleeve tore and blood spurted as she ducked under their advancing hands, trying for the open street. A fist struck her shoulder, throwing her towards the man in the centre. Shouts and running footsteps sounded as if they were several miles away and she got a clear view of the attacker’s face as his knife penetrated her ribs. Her knees buckled and her vision failed as she heard a group of men attacking the thieves who’d struck her down. There were shouts from the robbers and softer words in a foreign language and then nothing but blackness.

To be continued…