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Newsletter thirty two
May. 13th, 2011 02:10 pmThis week’s newsletter is brought to you by a fifty something woman, all aches and pains, who should realise she’s too old to climb trees.
Bags full of news this week:
The Cambridge lads have their own facebook page. Bless them.
Some of the submissions have come to fruition. Britflash, the free e-book of flash fiction to celebrate the UK meet of authors of GLBT fiction, will be out on 16th June. My story’s Commission and Omission.
Arromanches, 1994. A visit to the D-day beaches has become a pilgrimage for Stephen. He counts his life as starting in 1939 and finishing in 1944. Here.
Only now is Stephen’s white hair a true indication of his age; it turned prematurely grey fifty years ago, here. No-one in the family enquires about it any more. What happened to him, why his life changed, remains an unasked question among many unasked questions. Like the perennial, “Why did you marry me if you don’t love me?”
Now he’s old and canny enough to employ selective deafness. He doesn’t hear when the girl at his arm says, “Why do we have to visit this field, grandfather?”
Then there’s Tea and Crumpet, from JMS books (e-book and print) 3rd July, to support future UK meets. I’ve had “Bloody Mathematicians” accepted.
The impossible has happened. The inseparable Orlando Coppersmith and Jonty Stewart have had a parting of the ways. Will the ingenuity of their friends—and a little help from The Bard—help to reunite them?
Cambridge 1909
“Bloody mathematicians.” Jonty Stewart threw a sheaf of papers onto the desk and shook his head, sending his shock of blond hair flying and looking more than ever like a great, angry, tawny cat. “As far as I’m concerned the Vice-Chancellor should take a gun and shoot the lot of them.”
“Wouldn’t it be better if he took all their slide rules and stuck them up their…” Luckily, Dr. Panesar’s remark was never finished. Mrs. Ward, the lady who usually kept Doctors Stewart and Coppersmith supplied with tea and cakes, knocked on the door and produced a brew intended to sweeten the tempers of the men who drank it. Not that there was much chance of it working in Jonty’s case. Once the door was closed, and half a cup consumed, Panesar was brave enough to carry on. “What have they done now? And is it all of them or just one or two? A fraction, as ‘twere?” He laughed at his joke, which was the only sign of matters carrying on as normal in this corner of Cambridge.
Jonty grimaced “I think the problem lies with the whole boiling. They came out of their mothers’ wombs spouting calculus and taking no notice of anything else unless it had a power or an integral or something equally dire. But this time it’s one in particular. The usual one.” He sipped his tea, bit off a huge chunk of Eccles cake and sighed.
“Dr. Coppersmith?” It had become a running topic of conversation, the sudden antagonism between the two St. Bride’s dons who’d once been inseparable. It was fortunate Orlando had moved back into college before blows had been struck. They’d once been friends, great friends some said—perhaps more than friends one or two surmised, to have reached such a fever pitch of antipathy—although nobody had any idea what had caused such a bitter estrangement. Perhaps the two men didn’t even really know for themselves.
“The very chap.” Jonty frowned, drained his tea and shook his head. “This time it was all a matter of where I parked my bicycle. I’d been visiting someone at St. Bride’s and apparently where I’d chosen to leave my conveyance is where he seems to think he has divine right to leave his. There was very nearly a punch up.”
Inspiration:
I’ve been blogging about some of the historical pinups who inspire me, here and here.
Do come and share your favourites.
Bags full of news this week:
The Cambridge lads have their own facebook page. Bless them.
Some of the submissions have come to fruition. Britflash, the free e-book of flash fiction to celebrate the UK meet of authors of GLBT fiction, will be out on 16th June. My story’s Commission and Omission.
Arromanches, 1994. A visit to the D-day beaches has become a pilgrimage for Stephen. He counts his life as starting in 1939 and finishing in 1944. Here.
Only now is Stephen’s white hair a true indication of his age; it turned prematurely grey fifty years ago, here. No-one in the family enquires about it any more. What happened to him, why his life changed, remains an unasked question among many unasked questions. Like the perennial, “Why did you marry me if you don’t love me?”
Now he’s old and canny enough to employ selective deafness. He doesn’t hear when the girl at his arm says, “Why do we have to visit this field, grandfather?”
Then there’s Tea and Crumpet, from JMS books (e-book and print) 3rd July, to support future UK meets. I’ve had “Bloody Mathematicians” accepted.
The impossible has happened. The inseparable Orlando Coppersmith and Jonty Stewart have had a parting of the ways. Will the ingenuity of their friends—and a little help from The Bard—help to reunite them?
Cambridge 1909
“Bloody mathematicians.” Jonty Stewart threw a sheaf of papers onto the desk and shook his head, sending his shock of blond hair flying and looking more than ever like a great, angry, tawny cat. “As far as I’m concerned the Vice-Chancellor should take a gun and shoot the lot of them.”
“Wouldn’t it be better if he took all their slide rules and stuck them up their…” Luckily, Dr. Panesar’s remark was never finished. Mrs. Ward, the lady who usually kept Doctors Stewart and Coppersmith supplied with tea and cakes, knocked on the door and produced a brew intended to sweeten the tempers of the men who drank it. Not that there was much chance of it working in Jonty’s case. Once the door was closed, and half a cup consumed, Panesar was brave enough to carry on. “What have they done now? And is it all of them or just one or two? A fraction, as ‘twere?” He laughed at his joke, which was the only sign of matters carrying on as normal in this corner of Cambridge.
Jonty grimaced “I think the problem lies with the whole boiling. They came out of their mothers’ wombs spouting calculus and taking no notice of anything else unless it had a power or an integral or something equally dire. But this time it’s one in particular. The usual one.” He sipped his tea, bit off a huge chunk of Eccles cake and sighed.
“Dr. Coppersmith?” It had become a running topic of conversation, the sudden antagonism between the two St. Bride’s dons who’d once been inseparable. It was fortunate Orlando had moved back into college before blows had been struck. They’d once been friends, great friends some said—perhaps more than friends one or two surmised, to have reached such a fever pitch of antipathy—although nobody had any idea what had caused such a bitter estrangement. Perhaps the two men didn’t even really know for themselves.
“The very chap.” Jonty frowned, drained his tea and shook his head. “This time it was all a matter of where I parked my bicycle. I’d been visiting someone at St. Bride’s and apparently where I’d chosen to leave my conveyance is where he seems to think he has divine right to leave his. There was very nearly a punch up.”
Inspiration:
I’ve been blogging about some of the historical pinups who inspire me, here and here.
Do come and share your favourites.
