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This latest work is inspired by Master of the Pack, by DusanMarkovic

I stood before him, the great Tiger of the Southern Wastes, and I tried not to tremble, but I could not help but appear sheepish, troubled, by the ferocity in those blue eyes, eyes rightfully harden by years of war and turmoil. His guards remained impassive, but stood ready to introduce me to the sharp end of their large spears.

“You sought an audience, now what do you want?” His gravelly voice rumbled.

“I… I have come to… to strike a bargain.”

Silence greeted me. The clouds parted briefly to permit gleaming moonlight down upon us, striking a powerful glare across his mighty sword, which he drove into the ground and used to winch himself to his feet.

“A bargain? What could you possibly have that could interest us?” He snarled.

I could not help but take in how tall he stood. I wasn’t exactly short – just over six foot in height – but he was a full head higher than myself. I did all I could to keep eye contact, to not show weakness, but I feared I was failing.

“Information…” I began, praying my voice wouldn’t crack.

“Information? About what?” He stepped closer, the heavy, ornate golden armour on his thick legs rattling, the razor-sharp claws on his feet clicking upon the cold stone ground.

“Our mutual enemy… they are on the march, they… they are coming for you.”

He was almost face to face with me now, nose to nose. The scar that ran across his right eye came into clear focus – red and angry, like the blood rushing through his veins.

“Let them come. They cannot defeat us.”

“They can… they have allies, help…” I closed my eyes briefly, before opening them again with a resolve I didn’t know I had. “Some of my people are helping them.”

Death was what I had expected, death from the extended claws on his hands, that I knew could shred even the toughest elephant hide, or perhaps death from his terrifying teeth, as he tore out my throat in an orgy of blood and flesh. Instead his gaze, his judging, intense stare, remained fixed upon my own eyes.

“Typical.” Sneered the Tiger. “Trust your kind to roll over so meekly for them.”

“Not all of us.” I replied hastily. “Not all of us.” I said again, more sombrely.

The Tiger turned, took a step, grabbed his blade’s hilt and casually spun it around. “Allow me to guess, the wolf packs are not enamoured with their human masters?”

“No, we are not.” I replied. “I know what they’ve done to you, to other feline tribes…”

“You know nothing!” The blade was swung around, stopping at my neck. I stiffened, ears flattening and my tail drooping. The Tiger stepped back toward me and placed his big paw on my cheek. “Canines have been in league with the humans since the days of our ancient ancestors. Whilst your kind were given warm homes and beds, plentiful food, love… my kind was hunted for our pelts, mutilated for medicines… you can never understand what they have done.”

“With respect…” I began slowly. “Wolves share the fate of felines. We too were hunted, killed, butchered, and we have never forgotten. We won’t fight for the humans, we will fight for you, and for our freedom.”

The Tiger lowered his weapon and his paw. “And do you possess any information beyond platitudes?”

“Yes.” I steeled myself. This was now the realm of betrayal. “They seek to attack with two forces. One is an open siege of your capitol, at your northern wall. The other will be mostly a canine assault force, using their noses to sniff out any means of secret entry to your fortress.”

“When does this attack begin?”

“In four days. The wolf packs will be part of the second attack force – when I give the signal, I will have them turn on the humans, and any canines that remain loyal to them.”

Where there had been anger in the Tiger’s eyes, was now a strange calm. “I can smell deceit, deception, lies. I do not smell that upon you.”

“That’s why I came. I have never… I’ve never been good at concealing how I feel. It’s a weakness of canines, I guess.”

“And ours is that we are too good at it.” The Tiger held out his paw. “If we truly join our forces, this will only be the beginning. The humans will never stop hunting you if you betray them.”

I took his paw and shook it. It felt warm, and strong. “They have always hunted us, used us, abused us. Not anymore.”

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Inspired by this piece on Deviant Art, by Asfodelo.

He’d watched her sit in the little, dingy booth, gnawing absent-minded on some spicy chicken wings (he’d recognise that smell anywhere). He’d never quite been brave enough to order anything from the menu in the disrespectful diner, least of all something that could be smothered in hot sauce, but she’d picked apart the wings to find all the actual meat, and sat there with a bored expression as she ate, then pulled pieces of bird flesh from between her teeth.

After watching discretely for a few minutes, he took a stroll over to the ‘table’ where she sat, and ignored how the crate underneath him creaked as he sat down.

“Not hot enough for you?” He drawled.

“Nothing ever is.” She replied without looking at him.

He gestured at the pile of bones. “You know, rumour says this place doesn’t actually serve chicken.”

“Rumour is, I don’t care, it’s food.” She said as she leaned back against the booth. “What do you want?”

“Just to make some polite conversation…” He smiled. “And I have to admit to a mild curiosity to what’s in those two black bags you brought in here.”

“Oh these?” Her jet black spiked hair took on a strange blue aura from the neon light behind her. “What’s in these is a case of mind your own business mister.”

He put his hands in the air. “Oh I ain’t threatening to steal them missy. I was just intrigued, is all.”

“You don’t wanna be. You don’t want to see me sitting here, trust me. You wanna go home and forget you ever saw me.”

He lowered his hands and placed one on the table. “Why, you bad news?”

She smiled. It was not a pleasant image. “The worst. Armageddon rides on my shoulders.”

“And why is that?”

“Because the world outside you see now, with all the death and destruction and the people hurtin’… that was just a foreshadowin’. What’s in these bags, it’ll doom anyone ‘cept me.”

“Is that so?” He leaned forward. “Well see now you have my curiosity at a peak. How can one little lady, who by all accounts is alone, sittin’ in one grungy diner, be the bringer of death, with two black sacks?”

She leaned forward too. “Because this ‘little lady’ has brought death before, in ways you cannot begin to imagine. People who crossed me, who tried to hurt me, they didn’t live long enough to learn. People who try to stop my work, they wish they were dead.” Her eyes were harsh. “You wanna leave now, and you don’t wanna look back.”

A cold shiver had run down his spine, despite the stifling humidity. Her voice, her face, but most of all her eyes, spoke of an evil he didn’t dare comprehend. He rose without another work, gave the bags one last suspicious look, and turned and walked away, leaving the woman alone once more.

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From a site called The Coffee Monster (which must be considered a great name, by the way) comes a list of prompts. The prompt listed for the 6th of September 2025 is If you were given the opportunity to write a book, what kind of book would it be?

Well, in many respects this prompt is easy for me, since I’ve already had that opportunity! As many of you who read this blog will know, I published my first book, The Awakening, a few years back, and it’s science fiction, which shall come as no surprise to anyone who knows me. I was fortunate to find a publisher (in the shape of Jumpmaster Press) willing to take on my earlier, self-published version, and polish it to a level they were willing to put their name to. They gave me the time and the opportunity to develop a story I can be proud of, and if I had to do the same journey all over again, I’d do it in the same way. Sci-fi is my thing, my jam, so to speak, and I certainly aim to keep on writing sci-fi, with a dash of fantasy thrown in too. Let’s hope I can have more opportunities to indulge my ideas!

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Welcome back to the Meerkat Muse! We are now into the middle of March, but has spring begun to, um, spring?

Inclement Irritation

It certainly hadn’t managed to, two weeks ago today. It poured down, with a ferocity that took even this weather-worn greymuzzle by surprise. Rain is hardly unusual, even heavy rain, but this felt worse than usual. Fortunately, it stopped by the time I was due to go home from work, and blue skies appeared, but for how long?!

The Battle to Believe

When it comes to football, I have become utterly cynical. Successive ‘nearly’ seasons with Liverpool, and numerous, various forms of failure from the England men’s national side, have left me without much faith that the sides I care about will enjoy glory. It seems the more I dare hope, the more epic the failure, and the more it hurts. I am therefore remaining incredibly wary, even though Liverpool have opened up a 13-point lead at the top of the Premier League table. Some might suggest I am being far too pessimistic, but with 28 of 38 games played, and though Arsenal – our nearest challengers – having a game in hand but struggling to score goals of late, I still cannot shake the feeling that there might be a sting in the tale.

Ultimately this is a ridiculous thought process, but as I said, I’ve witnessed many false dawns. Nothing is over till it’s over.

Wild Nocturnal Rides

The other night I had not one, but two, rather surreal and crazy dreams. The first was directly inspired by scenes I am writing for the third and final part of the Chon’ith Saga. It involved planning for war, evacuating non-combatants, and loitering enemy ships, albeit these ships were more akin to modern, ocean-surfing warships, rather than the space-borne vessels of my story. I had barely come to terms with everything going on here, when I found myself in another dream, one which felt like an episode of Inside No 9. I was with a group of people who at an office/hotel, gathering for some sort of conference. In the course of this, it turned out we had all been involved in the beheading of a woman, whose spirit had returned to exact revenge.

In the second dream, there were some fraught sprints down stairwells, and some desperate pleas to live. It was very strange.

Under the Weather

I’ve been through a spell where I had a cold coming on, though due to preemptively drugging up, I managed to stave off the worst of it. I did however feel extremely tired, which was also partly down to a rather busy spell at work. In some ways, it’s good to be busy, and I have been trying to be more ‘on it’ at work, despite still carrying a sense of… well, weariness. Much of this is aimed at some of the elements of my employer that I cannot change, such as laborious store deliveries, and the feeling that we’re fighting bigger branches of our own company.

I managed to see off the malaise by sleeping, which seemed to do the trick. I needed to be alert, for the busy days at work continued, with designs and quotes flying all over the place. In many ways, this is good. This is what we need. It is however, a bit exhausting, not least of all when you find yourself alone in the showroom, tackling one thing after another.

Radio ‘Kats!

I’ve done a radio interview! It relates to The Awakening, and I am very proud of it! You can check it out here.

Stress!

I love my daughter, without reservation or hesitation, but there are times when she sorely tries the patience of her mother and father! She is doing a graphics course at school, and this involves lugging a big folder around with her coursework in it. Twice, she has left it laying around, at some shops near her school. Twice! Fortunately, it has twice been found and handed in somewhere safe, but if it were to go completely missing, it would be very bad. I don’t know what I need to do to impress upon her the importance of paying attention! I could also do without lengthy trips across town to retrieve the folder.

A Day of Indulgence

It was my wife’s birthday a few days ago, and among the various stuff we did, one theme was common across the day: food. We had a McDonald’s breakfast, my parents brought pizza with them for lunch, and in the evening, we had a Chinese takeaway. The net result of all this was to be left feeling extremely full, and very lethargic!

It was a good day, and a day that also yielded quite possibly the best ever picture of our cat, Castiel:

Isn’t he a distinguished gentleman?

Busy Weekends

It was fair to say that the past weekend was very busy, at least by some of the previous standards. This is both a blessing and a curse, for on the one hand, it means the potential for money (I have a number of quotes on the boil, I just need some of them to boil over, so to speak), but on the other hand, it means being pulled in several directions at once, and facing the irritation of not being able to have lunch at a reasonable hour. Then there’s the further annoyance of uncontrolled spawn, running around the showroom, and I haven’t mentioned the frustration of last-minute visitors, who fail to understand that we are not paid to stay late.

This sense of annoyance continued into the Monday. I was lone-trading, and after a quiet morning, in which I was able to get things done, there came a steady stream of people, in and out of the door. Typically, these people overlapped, so I could not find even five minutes to make a drink, and of course, I could not serve two sets of customers at once! It infuriates me when the fates play such unwelcome games.

Book Broadcasts

The Awakening has featured on air, not once, but twice! You’ll have to dig for this one, but if you go to this link, and go to the Drive Time show on the 4th of March, you’ll find me being interviewed, at around the two-hour mark! You’ll also find a shout-out at Entropy Rising, via their podcast, which you can find here.

Other than all of that, I dare say it’s been a quieter Muse spell. As always, stay tuned for another Muse in two weeks! Until then…

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It’s time for the Odd Prompt! Today’s prompt for me is from Nother Mike, who brings forth a query about dragons and sweatshirts. Let us see how we can sink our teeth into this one…

***

Jarago, Blood Lord of All, Keeper of the Death Chalice, and the Maker of Widows, impatiently tapped his foot, and folded his arms, being sure to show off how impressively large his muscles were. They threatened to bulge right through his shirt, and he hoped the line in front of him would be suitably intimidated enough to let him skip the maddeningly slow queue. Alas, no one so much as turned around, much less pay him attention. The humans, in their dull grey shirts, trousers, skirts and jackets, were fixed to their phones, or ogling the myriad collection of brightly-coloured cakes and pastries in the coffee shop.

Where has the respect gone? Where is the fear?

Jarago recalled a conversation with Lurge, the Ocean Master, and Sinker of Hope, about the decline in appreciation of dragons, and other mythical creatures. Lurge had bemoaned how downtrodden he felt, and Jarago had been powerless to ease his friend’s misery, for he shared their emotions. As the queue for coffee slowly shuffled forward, he cursed the day humans had decided powerful, strong entities like himself were the stuff of children’s fables. I should be ruling these peons, not entertaining them!

On the flipside, Jarago looked down at his expensive gold Rolex, and remembered that he owned the rights to his image and titles. At least I get royalties from these stupid apes.

His mood lightened only in part by the regular financial rewards, Jarago grumbled as someone staggered into him, in turn forcing him into bumping the slender human woman in front of him. She turned around, initially wearing a face like thunder, but she paused, and trained chocolate-brown eyes on him, looking him up and down. Jarago rolled his own eyes. The ‘other’ image problem. I am a powerful and deadly dragon, not a sex symbol!

The lady’s lustful look lingered longer than Jarago liked, and he glowered at her, until she took the hint, and faced forward. He shot a glance behind him, and a mousey-looking man, with messy brown hair, looked at him through frightened green eyes. Jarago bared his rows of razor-sharp teeth, and took an evil pleasure from the man’s increased anxiety. He turned back to face forward, and the queue inched forward, placing him within range of the baguettes and sandwiches. Jarago eyed a ham and cheese baguette with great interest, and his stomach rumbled. The lady in front of him thought she discretely snuck another peak, but he noticed, and he shot her a look of anger. Annoyingly, she seemed undeterred.

Irritated beyond belief, Jarago grabbed the baguette, and now the till was in sight, along with the promise of a rich, hot coffee. His sensitive nose sucked in the gorgeous aroma, and he sighed from unfathomable relief as the creepy lady collected her order and left, albeit she brushed by him far too closely for his comfort. Jarago sighed, and stepped to the till.

“Do you want that warmed up, sir?” the barista asked. Jarago grinned.

“I can take care of that myself, thanks,” he snorted a puff of smoke from his flaring nostrils, for emphasis. The young man in the apron apprehensively nodded.

Slightly less stressed, Jarago walked out of the coffee shop, and onto the busy London pavement. He checked his watch, and shoved his hand in his pocket, whereupon he felt something that had not been there before. He pulled out a small business card, and turned it over in his hand.

“Madam Fence, Purveyor of Pleasure and Pain for Mythical Creatures,” he said aloud, and realised several passers-by were within earshot. He sheepishly shoved the card, complete with its suggestive imagery, back into his pocket. “Oh, I bet it was her, how dare she assume something like that.”

Jarago shoved his thoughts back inside his head, and strolled under the rising July sun toward his apartment. He paused a few times, to offer cash to other legendary creatures who had fallen on harder times than he. Anger swelled in his soul once more, at the imbalance, and the injustice. He resolved to offer them employment, and mentally ran through his plan for vengeance. By the time he had reached his apartment block, and travelled up the lift to his floor, Jarago’s rage had reached a fever-pitch, and he tossed his jacket on the back of the chair at his breakfast bar, ready to unleash his fury upon the unforgiving, ignorant world.

The ‘business’ card fell to the floor, and he scooped it up. He intended to hurl it into the bin, but in his stress, Jarago paused. On the back of the card, the siren had written of ‘relief’, and as he trembled with his dark emotions, he reflected on whether or not he deserved an opportunity to vent. It has been a while…

Toying with the idea of making a call, despite his initial annoyance at the presumptions made by Madam Fence, Jarago picked up his phone, and dialled the number. A woman’s sultry voice answered.

“You have reached Madam’s Fence’s office of pleasure and pain, how may we help you?”

“I, uh, I’d like to book an appointment, if I may,” he began, surprisingly nervous.

“Of course, sir. Do you have any specific allergies or species requirements we need to be aware of?”

“Just one, both, uh, literally and metaphorically, I, ah, don’t like being trodden on, especially on my tail. I even have that on a sweater,”

“That’s cute. I’ll tell Madam Fence not to walk all over you, at least not too much. We can slot you in this afternoon, 2pm?”

“That, um, works for me,” Jarago replied.

“Excellent. See you there, and enjoy,” The line went dead, and Jarago breathed out. I’d better wear that sweater.

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For this week’s Odd Prompt, I am borrowing from the spares, and asking who let the werewolves out?

****

The arresting officer raged, stalking back and forth in front the chief, who shook his head, and tapped his desk.

“Sit down, Reg, and calm down, there’s no point in all this, this fury. I get it, you’re angry, but as guilty as we both know they are, we can’t pin this on them.”

Reginald Curtis paused, patted down his tweed jacket, and set his unshaven self down in the chair in front of the desk. He met the chief’s eyes.

“This is so damn unfair boss, one little manipulation, and the whole lot of them walk free?”

“I know, and believe me, I am pretty angry too, but what do you want to do? Falsify records, trick the system? They’re lawyers, Reg, they know the game, perhaps better than we do.”

Reg looked away, toward the door leading back out into the precinct. He caught a glimpse of an enthusiastically wagging, fluffy white tail, and he wanted to storm over to it and yank it.

“They’ve taken over this town, we might as well work for them,” Reg muttered.

“No, no way, it’s one thing to be angry, but I will not have you being defeatist, not in my precinct, not under my watch. Close the door Reg, so we can talk privately.”

Reg hauled himself up from the chair, and resisted slamming the door, choosing to gently close it instead. He sat back down.

“Look, I’m sorry, Chief, this is just driving me nuts. You got any idea how long it took to put that case together?”

“Yeah, I know, and believe me, I’m feelin’ sick right now, but we play this smart, no reckless moves.”

Reg shook his head. “How do we outsmart these guys? They’re super cunning! It’s like it’s bred into their DNA, which let’s face it, it probably is.”

The chief raised a meaty finger. “Reg, you might have hit on the answer. They’re creatures of cunning, but also more, shall we say, instinctive, right? So we prey on their instincts. They’re wolves, what can’t wolves resist?”

Reg blankly stared at the chief, who rolled his eyes. “What can’t dogs resist, not usually?”

“Um, belly rubs?”

“No! Food! They can’t resist food!”

Understanding dawned for Reg. He slapped his forehead. “Ah, but still, luring them somewhere doesn’t mean we can pin a crime on them, that’s entrapment boss, it will never stick in court, and they know it,” he gritted his teeth. “Sir, I am the last person to want to say this, but we don’t have a choice, we have to let the werewolves out. We have to play this smart, but let me work the case, let me build it, I’ll make it airtight, I promise.”

The chief sat back in his chair, and stared at Reg for several seconds, then nodded.

“Do what you need to, don’t stop till we have those hounds behind bars, where they belong.”

Reg returned the nod, and stood up. He resolved that not a single werewolf would escape his grasp, ever again.

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Occasionally, I get asked questions about how I write a book. It goes without saying that different authors take different approaches to this. Some have a very clear outline and they meticulously plan their writing, in terms of both where and when they’ll write, and what the story will be. Others have a more laissez-faire approach. I for one definitely fit into the latter category!

I wouldn’t say that I ‘wing it’, because in my head I know roughly where I am going. However, I don’t set a rigid structure in place when I write. I have plot points I want to explore, but how I get from A to B is less a straight line, and more of a wavy squiggle. It would be fair to say I don’t have the sort of focus that let’s me pre-plan a story in a set manner, so instead, I grant myself some creative flexibility. It’s worked for me so far, what with The Awakening, and in the not-so-distant future, The Schism.

There are other elements to the process too. I firmly believe that you should enjoy what you write, and write about what you like and love. I am a sci-fi fan, so there wouldn’t be much point in me writing an historical romance, or a courtroom drama. I don’t know enough about that sort of thing to write about it, and I doubt I’d enjoy writing it. It’s a lot easier to naturally flow when you are enjoying the experience. Writing stories should not feel like a chore. If it becomes work, it’s not worth doing. That’s my two cents on the writing process.

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Welcome back to the Meerkat Muse, which as of the morning of the 6th of November is quite muted. Why might that be? Cast your minds back to the 5th of November…

The Tangerine Tyrant Takes Control

Despite four years of failure in his first term, despite plenty of failure as a businessman and as a man, and despite his own clear cognitive decay, Donald Trump has become president for a second time. The likes of Vladimir Putin and Kim Jong Un are probably still holding victory celebrations of their own, which should tell you precisely why Trump is bad for the USA, and bad for the world.

I am speechless. Words have completely failed me. It’s like half of America exists in a bubble, a rose-tinted bubble, with only the most cursory of gestures made to acknowledge Trump’s faults, if indeed his worshippers can bring themselves to do even that. Here is a man who lied about election fraud, incited a riot to subvert an election, whose blunders cost countless lives during covid (not to mention tanking the economy), a man who pays porn stars hush money to cover up affairs, a man with a history of racism and sexism. This man illegally took state secrets home with him too. He should be in prison, yet half of America has been so successfully duped by his deceit and rhetoric that they’ve put him back in The White House. It’s as absurd as it is insane, and there will devastating consequences for the world.

It is tempting to conclude the world is a dumpster fire right now, and it certainly is, but it’s always darkest before the dawn. Those of us who value freedom, equality, compassion and kindness need to stick together, and be the bulwark against hate.

Pointless Early Starts

The 6th of November was Collection Day, so to speak. Having gotten my daughter a new bed and desk, I had to get rid of the old ones. Cue arranging a collection with the local council, then hauling the frame, mattress, desk (and whilst I was at it, an old lawn mower) out to the kerb. I took a photo of the assembled items, and also stuck the council’s reference number onto each item, so there should have been no grounds for doubt as to what was being collected, nor any concerns that it wasn’t ready to pick up. Not that I don’t trust the council, but I don’t trust the council! They have no excuse not to take it, but I am quite cynical where they’re concerned.

Sure enough, I was proven right! Having been directed to have the items out by 7.30am, which I did, they wound up still sitting there come the evening. Would I have a fight on my hands with the council? I had originally been told I would get an email by the 8th, explaining the outcome of my collection request. Considering how it appeared to have failed through the inaction of the council, I was preparing my response in advance. In some ways, following the wake of the events of the 5th, I was spoiling for a fight, and the council might have made the mistake of giving me one. Sure enough, an email came in that stated the items were not as described, or inaccessible.

Since neither of these conditions were true, I phoned the council to make that point, and was subsequently assured the matter would be escalated. Watch this space…

Bears and Buffets

Back on the 8th, my wife, daughter and I enjoyed a trip to the new cinema, where we had the luxury seats, and after some confusion about seat numbers, settled in to watch Paddington in Peru. I have found all the Paddington films to be absolutely charming, very sweet, and at various points, very funny! They are the perfect family films, with plenty of warmth, as befits the titular character. We followed this film with a visit to a local all-you-can-eat buffet, and I proceeded to stuff my face quite substantially! I did however go off the beaten track a little, going more for the Indian selections, though some steamed pork buns, a bit of salmon-wrapped vegetable sushi, some Korean pork, and some sweet and sour chicken did find its way to my plate. So did a lot of jelly, a steamed custard bun, some bananas and custard, some pavlova, and a generous helping of ice cream.

Like i said, I stuffed my face!

Late Arrivals

I swear I seem to write a segment like this in every Muse. Once again owing to lone-trading on a Sunday, I was once again treated to people coming in with little time left on the clock, so to speak. Whilst I am generally understanding of this during the week, when it happens on a weekend it greatly frustrates me. Our opening hours are a known quantity, easily obtainable via various means, so why is it that people still turn up quite late, every single Saturday and Sunday? Why must I remind people of the obvious, namely that those of us working in shops are humans too, and that we want to go home on time?

Technology Woes

My household seems to have some awful luck regarding laptops. Earlier in the year, a very good laptop decided to randomly die, completely out of the blue. The secondary laptop suffers from a faulty power connector, which was repaired but remains inconsistent, to the point where it’s virtually unusable now. I wouldn’t mind if we were careless people, but we’re not. The tech seems to die without much prompting, which is mightily frustrating. It hinders activity, such as editing my books. It makes working on this website more of a challenge. It hampers my wife’s surveys. It’s also a costly exercise in replacing them.

Might it be that our modern-day devices have built-in obsolescence? It would be illegal for this to be the case, but it certainly feels like they do. Even if they don’t, the rapid development of computers means they can seem obsolete within a short span of time, and after a few years they can seem like they are grinding to a halt, assuming they haven’t failed completely.

The Collection Saga Continues

A week after the arranged collection of several items failed, the council had another opportunity to carry out the collection, and it once again failed. Once again, the items were in an easily-accessible location, as per the original instructions. This time I made sure there were no other items bundled in with our collection from other households, lest the council try to use this as an excuse. It turns out I got my dates wrong, and it would be the following week for the collection. D’oh!

The Schism Takes Shape

The sequel to The Awakening is coming along. I am in the grinding process of editing, but I feel like I’ve made some good progress with this over the past week. It helps that there’s a new laptop in the house, one with a reliable power connection, so I can crack on in earnest! There is definitely a feeling of satisfaction of bringing the project towards completion, and I look forward to carrying on with editing it. Alongside this, I am busily working on other writing projects. The creative juices are flowing! I am 25% of the way through The Schism, and aiming to have the edits done before the end of 2024, which should be more than doable.

It all feels very exciting!

Jackets, Continued

You may recall that in the previous Muse, I wrote of a problem with a Linkin Park jacket. It had a glaring flaw, namely the misspelt name of the late Chester Bennington. After a bit of wrangling, I was able to convince the retailer to send out another jacket, which arrived last week. Had they fixed their mistake? No. The mistake is also exactly the same as it was before, so it seems my correspondence with them has been entirely for nought. The next step in this process is to seek a full refund, because as it stands the jacket is unwearable. It also seems to be of generally poorer quality than the first one. I’ve contacted the seller once again, expressing my desire for my money back, and now it’s a case of waiting and seeing. Will they honour my request?

Aaaaaaargh!

I arrived at work the other morning to an horrendous sight. The glass on one of the bannisters had blown over night, coating one of the staircases in cubes of safety glass. Needless to say, this was not a great find, first thing on a Monday! There wasn’t much I could do, other than clean it up. I could certainly do without any form of repeat of this, any time soon! I suspect the glass must have been knocked at some point, though how and when is up for debate.

The Cold Creeps In

There’s no denying that as we reach the middle of November, the mercury has plummeted. Alas, it’s the time of year that any last semblance of warmth vanishes. In fact, just to remind us of this, it snowed for a bit yesterday! Still, we’ll blink and winter will be over. The sunny days always return, and until then, there will plenty of things to enjoy as November gives way to December. I shall leave you all with that thought, as I bid farewell to this Muse. Until next time, all you lovely meerkats!

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