Paw wanted a younger wife and didn’t care how he went about getting one. When he come home and took his belt to Maw for the third night running, me and Elmer weighed in. We took our hidden money and walked into town. Brung home the ingredients for grandmaw’s special cake and put them on the kitchen table in front of Ma.

She nodded and set to work.

Paw come home moody, but the cake sweetened him up. He guzzled slice after slice until his moustache was thick and stiff with icing.

About as stiff as his body next morning…

©️ jj 2018

Ian Bristow talented artist, musician and author tells the Working Title Blog how he created the covers for Fortune's Fools final trilogy: Mistrust and Treason, Not To Be and A Necessary End.

WTB: These covers are all from the same original artwork, how did you create that and why did you use that method?

IB: Well, the way I created it was from the ground up, first sketching, then painting and detailing. The reason I painted completely custom work for these covers was simply because the need was there. No preexisting photos would fit the need. It would have required compromise in the representation of content. Though painting the piece was quite time-consuming, the end result is something I am very happy with, and more importantly, it’s something the author is happy with.

Watch Ian creating this original panorama in a time-lapse video.

WTB: What do you regard as being the main advantage of using original art for a book cover over photo-manipulation?

IB: Two things. One is that you are in absolute control of what image is being produced, and two, there is an artistic feel that comes from a painting that might be a bit lost in photo-manipulation. That said, at times it is the photo feel that works best for a cover and in those cases, it’s all about maintaining that quality and just tweaking to fit the cover’s needs.

WTB: Did you put in little details that might not be immediately visible or include any visual ‘easter eggs’?

IB: Actually there are loads of tiny details I used to try and authenticate the idea that we are seeing the city from a distance. Small text and things. One docking bay says ‘Read’ while most are just numbers and such. But my favorite thing that I hid in there is the author’s name in the faint numbers you see in the sky. It is spelled out like this: 3.M. 5w1ft-H00K.

Mistrust and Treason is out 21 September and available for pre-order now!

If you would like to find out more about Ian Bristow's cover designing services, go to Bristow Design or look for Ian on his Website, check out his awesome timelapse art videos with his own original music on YouTube or follow him on Twitter.

Foundry closes at six on a Friday, and all the men go to the pub. Even Pa, though he ain’t much of a drinker and he don’t never come home and black Ma’s eyes. 

Quarter after six one Friday night we hears his boots outside. He come in grinning. Handed Ma his unopened pay packet then put something small and wriggling on her lap. She looked down with a smile pulling at her lips.

“Rat terrier?”

“Aye.” Then his smile broadened. “And if a man got a working dog at home he can’t afford to to go to the pub…”

©️jj 2018

Meet Car Torbalen and his grand-daughter Vexana from Mistrust and Treason, the new Fortune's Fools book, which is available to pre-order at a special low price now.

The music started up again and there was a tap at the door. Distracted, he turned smiling, knowing who it would be.
“I grabbed a drink. Thought you’d like one too.”
This was the reason he had taken that retirement two years ago. Vexana. Nearly sixteen years old now, Legacy raised and the perfect age to become willing cannon-fodder for them. He was trying hard to convince her that there were other, better, ways to serve the cause, ways that could achieve just as much — more — and not cost you your life. So far he wasn’t sure he had succeeded, but it was a work in progress.
Torbalen hoped she would, one day, be able to learn the kind of skills needed to do his job here, or maybe she would move on to something different, better and safer. It would be folly to assume he could ever persuade her to step away from The Legacy. Much as he wanted her to do exactly that, he couldn’t deny her the same right as he had to serve the cause for which her parents had died. But he could, and would, do his best to ensure the way she served that cause was one that would never place her in the same kind of extreme hazard her parents had so willingly undertaken.
He accepted the drink she offered and sipped at it as Vexana dropped into the only other chair available.
“So you think these two are any good?” She gestured vaguely in the direction the music was coming from.
“Not bad. They have that raw edge you kids seem to like.”
The girl rolled her eyes.
“You kids? Sheesh!”
Torbalen hid his smile.
“Sorry. You young adults. Let me try it again. This duo has the kind of unconstrained spontaneity that young adults seem to find inspiring. Is that better?”
The girl’s eyes narrowed slightly. He felt she was judging his very soul and finding it wanting. It was a court with no facility for appeal, but it was also a judge who could be merciful and accept age as a mitigating factor. She looked away and glanced at a screen, firing off a couple of quick, texted, messages before deigning to give him her attention again.
“She was back there today.”
Torbalen tried to make that comment fit into the landscape of the world he shared with his granddaughter. He failed.
“Who was back where?”
The slight impatient sigh told him he had made some mistake by not knowing.
“At the dojo? That new girl I told you about? She’s good. You should come see her. She was talking politics with some of the others too.”
He felt a lurch of concern at those last few words. He owned the building the dojo occupied, it was one of the main places he had people keeping an eye out for potential recruits. One of the first things many of those angry and hate-filled kids wanted to do when they got here from whatever war zone hell-hole they had fled, was to learn how to defend themselves. They believed if they did they would never feel so vulnerable again. So, it made good sense to have his people there ready to listen to their woes and alert him to any who might be more useful.
In terms of recruitment, it was right on the front-line and the people he had doing it there were all well trained and experienced.
His grand-daughter didn’t know any of that. She was simply passionate about martial arts as a sport. Vexana trained there and she also helped out a couple of hours each day after school assisting in teaching the children’s classes. Torbalen had complete trust that his people would watch over her there with as much care as he did himself. Although of course, Vexana had no idea of his real role here on Skapandir. She knew he owned the dojo and maybe even believed she was the only one bringing him word of what happened there. But she was also not naive and would have worked out by now that there was some kind of Legacy connection with the place.
“Vexy, you know you mustn’t get into that kind of conversation with anyone.”
She glared at him.
“I just said she was talking with some of the others.”
“Good. Because it is really not — ”
“Not what?” Vexana snapped. “Not appropriate? Not my business? My parents died because of it so I think that makes it my business.”
She was brittle and defensive. He said the wrong thing, as he always did.
“My son and daughter-in-law died because of it, Vexy, and I would rather my granddaughter did not and I have the suspicion that they would’ve felt the same.”
“They died. You didn’t.”
He sighed heavily. It was an old argument and he had never yet won.
“I have given my life to The Leg— ”
“Really? How is that? You were just running a shipping business.” The girl almost spat with contempt. “How did that help anyone?”
“I was doing other things too.”
“Like what? Making a donation now and then? How very noble and heroic.”
“It wasn’t like that. We’ve been over this before. You know I can’t tell you exactly what I was — ”
Vexana made a sound that was a half-growl, half-groan of frustration and threw herself out of the chair, back towards the door. In a moment she would slam it hard and he would hear her feet thump down the small staircase.
He hated that.
Each time it happened he was left with the chill of fear that this might be the time it had gone too far and she might do something rash.
“Tell me then,” he said quickly, breaking the usual script of their ongoing melodrama. “Tell me about this new girl.”

E.M. Swift-Hook

Mistrust and Treason is the first book in Iconoclast, a gripping new Fortune's Fools trilogy.

He lifted his flat cap and  scratched his head.

“Do I look like some cloak and dagger type?”

He indicated his boiler suit, and big oily hands.

“That’s the whole point…”

In the end they won, and MI6 gained a young giant with a steam tractor.

He functioned quietly for years. But even the deepest cover can be broken, and one day a Russian came – looking for a fight. He got what he came for, although not the outcome he confidently predicted.

Even the smell of cremating flesh can be camouflaged by oil and candy floss and cheap hot dogs…

©️jj 2018

Today we are talking to the gifted (and very shy) E.M. Swift-Hook about her Fortune’s Fools series as the latest in the series Mistrust and Treason is out this week. I’m bending the format of our usual Author Feature here - because I can, and because there is so much I want to know about Fortune’s Fools.

WTB: Nine books set in one world with the promise of one climactic revelation at the end. How did you even begin to think you had the balls and the endurance to pull that off?

EM: I can’t say for sure that I have, seeing as how the last book still remains to be written. But Transgressor was originally meant to be a stand-alone trilogy. It was only after I had finished it that I realised it had the potential to tell a much greater story. A lot of the ideas I had gathered along the way remained unused and having touched on the broader galactic civilisation, it seemed a good idea to break out from Temsevar and explore that.
WTB: Everybody talks about Durban Chola, some love him and others find him creepily magnetic. How do you see him? Hero? Villain? Or something else entirely?

EM: Oh my! I think ‘enigmatic’ is the best and only way to describe Durban. He is, in a very real way, the axis upon which all of Fortune’s Fools spins. But as he is not consciously aware of that and neither are the other main characters around him, it isn’t something that impacts on how he behaves.
In his own words, taken from the upcoming Iconoclast 2: Not To Be, he says: “I am journeying towards a distant destination and trying to steer events towards getting there as best I can.” But as to what that destination is, you’ll have to wait and see.

WTB: The worlds you have invented for the books are extremely complex, if generally uncomfortable. How do you keep a hold of all the details?

EM: It might sound trite but I know my worlds. I’m not a very organised writer so I don’t keep reams of notes on characters and places and my continuity does slip. I tend to reread and check back if I find myself uncertain.

WTB: At what point in your nonology did you know where the underlying story was taking you? If it has been planned out from the very beginning has it remained set in stone or changed as the books have taken on life?

EM: The point at which the ‘end game’ of Fortune’s Fools became clear was the same point at which I realised there was a bigger story to tell – the end of Transgressor. However, the exact nature of that ‘end game’ has shifted within the original broad parameter a few times as better versions of the original idea have come along and replaced my original thoughts.
As to which version will finally emerge, I think I have a good grip on that now, but until I get into writing Iconoclast 3: A Necessary End it is still open to variation on a theme.

WTB: I know this is like asking which is your favourite bodily organ, but I’m putting you on the spot anyway. Who is your favourite character in the books? And why?

EM: Of course I have a very soft spot for Durban, it would be hard to have him in the key place he occupies in the books if I didn’t. But the character I like writing the most at the moment, although I’m sure I wouldn’t ever want to meet someone like him, has to be Jaz.
One reason is that his worldview, life experiences and nature are light years away from mine and that makes him both challenging and fascinating to write. His role in the book is effectively hired-muscle, the ‘hard man’ but anyone who reads his story will soon realise that whatever the archetype, Jaz is not any kind of stereotype.
But maybe he holds my sympathy because of all the characters his is probably the hardest emotional journey, and that for an individual who has the least resources to deal with it.

WTB: Given the amount of sheer bulls***t talked about the craft of writing, what do you think is the most important thing for a writer to be able to accomplish?

EM: That’s easy, to tell a story in a way that doesn’t keep reminding the reader that they are reading. Writing needs to become invisible, so the reader is caught in the flow and barely aware of the words on the page. Therefore, when it comes to word choice K.I.S. ‘Keep It Simple’ or you will lose your reader from that flow. Equally, don’t break the rules of grammar unless you want to create an impact. Of course, both these are guidelines on how the majority of writing should be, there will be odd occasions to set them aside

WTB: Do you have a piece of advice for new writers? I guess ‘don’t do it’ would be an acceptable answer.

EM: I’ve never seen being a writer as anything particularly special. Most children become fiction writers in English (or their own language) lessons at school, just some keep on with it into adulthood. But, since you ask, these would be my ‘top tips’:

• Read. Read deeply, widely and in as many genres as you can. It is the very best way to learn how to write. If a passage strikes you as brilliant, look at what makes it so. If a book seems dull, think about why.
• Write only if you enjoy doing so. If you want to make money, use your spare time to mug up on how to play the stock market – that will get you a better financial return on your time and effort than writing ever will.
• Own your own creativity. Some writers fall prey to such restrictive beliefs as having a ‘muse’ or that their characters are telling them what to write. Yes, it can feel like that at times, but walk that route and you limit your ability to write and write well by becoming convinced it is not under your own control when it really is.
• If you have a thesaurus only ever use it as a memory aid for words you know. Never assume the words it offers are exact synonyms. English is an incredibly nuanced language.
• Welcome criticism. You can only improve by learning and you can’t learn in a vacuum. Seek out fellow writers online or off and get involved in critique groups. The bonus is that through critiquing others your own writing will improve too.

WTB: Your house is on fire, you may only save one thing. Given that all living creatures are safe, what do you grab?

EM: I think I will disappoint here. I’m not much of a one for material possessions or sentimental value. I’d miss my library, but as I couldn’t rescue that I’d just grab my bag which has my purse in it so at least I had a debit card to pay for the hotel that night!

WTB: And finally. Given that Fortune’s Fools is nearly a done job, what are you going to do with the rest of your life?

EM: Well even when Fortune’s Fools main works have been done and dusted, I plan to bring out a prequel novella (it may be a novel in the end) covering the early life of Durban Chola on Temsevar and in the ‘City and I have a growing number of Fortune’s Fools short stories in various anthologies which I want to collect together at some point too. And, of  course, I am also still going to be working on the Dai and Julia Mysteries with the incredible Jane Jago.
In terms of solo writing, I already have another major project taking shape which will be very different to Fortune’s Fools. It will be historical rather than science fiction, but character driven as always. If you keep an eye on The Working Title blog you will see odd pieces from my rough draft of the start of it under the working title ‘The Cat’s Head.’

WTB: So with the interview out of the way, can we have an extract from Fortune’s Fools?

EM: Sure. What would you like?

WTB: Hmm. The part where Durban’s sister remembers her first ever meeting with him, that always sticks in my mind…

Extract from Fortune’s Fools Transgressor 2: Times of Change

Like a shy creature of the wild, sleep eluded her. Jaelya’s thoughts drifted, against her will, until those time-worn ghosts that hovered about her, led her gently along the paths of unwilling memory to the beginning of everything.
It was, of course, Alize who had been there then.
Her first awareness of life had been of holding Alize’s hand on that day as if she had been flung into the world fully-formed at the age of three. Even now she could still see clearly the high beamed roof, with its painted and vaulted ceiling, arching over the huge black and white slabs of stone which paved the floor. She had stood in the doorway, as if looking into the universe from outside, one hand holding onto a small bundle of clothes and the other gripping Alize’s as hand tightly as if her life depended upon it.
She conjured the scene easily, untarnished by the passage of years. The long table, taller than herself then, the chairs which had seemed made for giants, the fireplace which looked large enough to roast a good-sized ox and the faint, musty, smell of cold ashes and old books. Seated at the table, a heavy bound book open before him and a remote screen set up to one side, sat a boy with a mop of curly hair who had looked up as they entered. To the Jaelya in the memory, he had seemed so grown up himself but he cannot have been much more than five summers her senior.
Feeling confused, she had looked up at the figure of Alize towering beside her and the face that had looked down at her contained blue eyes that seemed to embrace the world and all the stars beyond. Jaelya felt as though she might be swallowed up in their depths, but somehow the thought made her feel safe rather than frightened. Then Alize’s gaze moved from herself to the boy, who got to his feet and was standing quietly behind the table, his square face framed by unruly golden curls.
“Child, this is your sister. Her name is Jaelya and I want you to take care of her.”
The boy had been staring at her with open curiosity as if wondering what manner of creature she might be, but at Alize’s words a miracle happened and his face broke into the most gentle and wonderful smile.
“My sister,” he breathed the words as a triumphal declaration rather than as any kind of question and then the boy had come across to her, his hands held out in welcome, his honey-coloured eyes lit up by the brilliant smile that was for her alone. “Hello, Jae. I am your brother and I’m always going to keep you safe.”
And in that moment Jaelya loved him with a fierce devotion, a devotion which all the years between and all the tests and burdens of those years had done nothing to diminish. So why was it, as she lay now in the dreamless darkness, that the thought of his returning to Harkera filled her heart with nothing but apprehension?

E.M. Swift-Hook takes seriously the words that Robert Heinlein put into the mouth of Lazarus Long: ‘Writing is not necessarily something to be ashamed of, but do it in private and wash your hands afterwards.’
Having tried a number of different careers, before settling in the North-East of England with family, three dogs, cats and a small flock of rescued chickens, she now spends a lot of time in private and have very clean hands.

You can find E.M. Swift-Hook on Twitter and Goodreads or keep up with Fortune's Fools and the Dai and Julia Mysteries on Facebook. The Fortune's Fools logo pictured above was created by Bristow Designs.

Mistrust and Treason the first book in the final Fortune’s Fools trilogy, Iconoclast, is available for pre-order now at a special pre-publication price and is out 21 September.

Sometimes she thought she might have lost herself and become just ‘Mum’. 

Even though her husband and children were her life she missed… something. In a moment of madness she signed up for the class, sure in her own mind she would be the only middle-aged mother there. 

But she wasn’t.

And she loved it. 

And it made her feel young again.

The first time she donned the clinging silks and performed a private dance for her husband his smile told her all she needed to know. 

Even a chubby mummy can still be sexy. If she feels sexy…

©️jj 2018

It took her the best part of an hour to bathe, devise a hairstyle suited to the wreath of flowers, and slip into the cream cashmere sheath dress with its matching shoes. By that time, Sam was suited and booted and awaiting her with his customary patience. She straightened his tie and pinned a single cream orchid in his buttonhole.
“Colin again?”
“Yes. He has flowers for everyone, even Bonnie. Reckons she can’t be a bridesmaid without flowers.”

They walked downstairs together to where the others awaited them in the hall. The men wore suits and cream buttonholes, and Bonnie balanced a wreath of flowers on her dark head. Colin walked once around Anna with his head on one side then kissed his fingers.
“You are stunning. Audrey Hepburn with added sex appeal.’
Anna laughed delightedly.
“Thank you for my flowers.”

They piled into the waiting Range Rover and went to have a wedding. It was brief as these things are, but there were a few tears as Sam and Anna made their vows and exchanged rings. The registrar was kind, and praised Bonnie’s exemplary behaviour.
“If all our wedding guests behaved as well as you,” she remarked, “our lives would all be easier.”

Paul took what seemed to Anna to be about a thousand photographs before they were hustled out of the room to make way for the next wedding party, which consisted of about fifty people including a very pregnant bride in a huge white meringue of a dress.

On a bubble of laughter they scrambled back into the car and headed to a pub where Bonnie was welcome for a very giggly lunch.

By the time they returned home it was late in the afternoon and they were all pleasantly tired. Bonnie finally consented to remove her wreath of flowers, and everyone else went to change into more casual dress. When they gathered in the kitchen, Paul started looking through the shots on his camera.
“If I get them down to about twenty or so, can I use your printer Anna?”
“You can.”
“Got any photo paper?”
“Yeah, loads. What are you thinking of?”
“Photos on the wall for the party tomorrow.”
Colin clapped his hands.
“What a splendid idea.”

Anna looked at Sam, and he shrugged his shoulders.
“Okay. If it makes you boys happy,” she smiled.

Paul and Colin retired to the office to squabble about which pictures to print, while Ben, Danny, Sam, Anna and Bonnie went out for a walk. When they got back Paul and Colin had obviously reached an accommodation as they had printed a sheaf of A4-sized pictures, which they refused to let Anna look at.
“Not till we’re sorted out. Now how do we display them?”
Sam thought for a minute. “I have some big folding screens in the garage, left over from some project or other one of the trendy vicars started but never finished. If we stapled some white paper, or fabric to them then we could put the pictures on that.”
“Yeah, but do you have any white paper or fabric?”
“Old sheets do?” Anna asked.
“Yes.”
“Okay then, let’s go look at these screens.”

The men trooped out together, and Anna went to the airing cupboard for a couple of clean old sheets. She put them on the worktop, then looked at Bonnie in her basket.
“What’s that bugger Paul up to?”
Bonnie lifted her head and waved her tail encouragingly.
“You’re right Bon Bon, he wouldn’t do anything too embarrassing.”

Anna quietly carried on with her preparations for the party, humming to herself as she worked. Sam came in for the sheets and grinned at her.
“I’ll rein them in if they get silly,” he promised.

A while later, Colin appeared in the kitchen looking a bit shy.
“I’m supposed to keep you out back while the rest of them set up the pictures. Ben said I could always offer to help you with your preparations for tomorrow. But that’s a bit awkward. People think I’ll want to take over, or sneer at their cooking.”
“Instead of just being grateful that somebody else is cooking for a change?”
“Exactly,” he grinned.
“Come out back with me and help me check I haven’t forgotten anything.”
They went out to Anna’s very organised utility room and pantry.
“No starter,” Anna said. “Trays of nibbles: olives, Parma ham, cheese straws, mini quiches, baby pickles, nachos and dips. Only thing left to do for that is warm the quiches. Main courses: coq au vin, boeuf bourgignon, fish pie, veggie curry, veggie lasagne. Vegetable rice, jacket spuds, garlic bread, assorted rolls. Bread all made, just needs warming. Spuds can go in the bottom of the Aga to cook, the mains will go in the Aga to heat. Only thing needing attention will be the rice. Puds: chocolate brownies in the tin there, chocolate sauce in the fridge ready to nuke in the microdoofer, ice cream gateaux in the freezer here, meringue nests people can fill for themselves – strawberries macerating in vodka, ice cream, caramel sauce, cream. Finally loads of cheeses. Cold meats in the fridge plus two raised pies, one chicken and ham, one roasted vegetables, with salad stuff. That’s for for supper, as I expect most of them will still be around at supper time. What have I forgotten?”
“Nothing that I can see. Disposable plates?”
“No. Hate them, and for some reason Sam seems to have plenty of that sort of stuff. And we have a humongous dishwasher. But I am using all disposable serving dishes. Except for the cheese boards.”
“I’m impressed. It all seems to be here except plates for the mains.”
“In the warming drawer. Colin, how much did you have to do with the planning of this kitchen?”
“A bit. Sam was floundering and came to see us with the plans. I stuck my nose in, though this is the first time I’ve seen it in the flesh.”
“I thought someone had helped. It’s all so practical. And the big catering quality range…’
“Well. That’s a story. Sam’s builder had done a kitchen for a woman in Cheltenham. The woman specified the range. Three months later she changed her mind and wanted one of those electric pretend Agas. The builder took the range out and advised Sam to offer her five hundred quid for it. She bit his hand off and he got more than five grand’s worth of cooker for five hundred quid.”
Anna laughed.
“Silly cow. Those electric things are pointless and even more expensive to run than an oil fired Aga.”
“Truly. But Sam was the beneficiary.”

Jane Jago

The telegram came on a sultry August day. Rowan read its brief message then went to milk the house cow. She never spoke about it.

As summer drifted into autumn she felt herself fading with the year and her once sturdy body grew thin enough for the wind to almost blow through her.

It was October when Rowan saw the eagle. He rode a thermal and his feathers were burnished by the autumn sun. For a moment she was blinded by tears, then a beloved voice spoke in her soul. 

“Live Rowan, that I may not have died in vain.”

©️jj 2018

I am a muse of good intent
Here to inspire and not torment
My only wish to steer you right
And not keep you awake at night

I am a muse and if you call
I’ll come and grab you by the balls
A gentle muse sir, I am not
But I’m the only one you’ve got

So if you’d keep inspiration handy
Mine’s a double Pimms and brandy

©️jj 2018