The summer break from work continues, but the sky is grey again and the air muggy.  I go back to work next week.  Looking forward to it after three months.   I haven’t done any writing during this time, apart from a brief tidy up on my current novel, a psychological thriller for Young Adults, and I’m still waiting to hear back from an agent.  In the meantime, I practise classical piano and continue to work on my French, German and Russian.

Occasionally, I like to look through some of my earlier writings  and I found this one told through the eyes of a man in his early twenties:

‘No, Hope,’ he said. ‘Quit the I-need-you act. You and I are finished.’

He deactivated the hands-free kit and sped away in the car, past Stansted Airport, down the A120 and along flat country, continuing until he reached a lonely shore that looked grey against the darkening horizon and the dull flecks of rain. Hope had no idea of how much she’d hurt him. Hope didn’t understand anyone’s feelings but her own.

He stayed on the deserted sand in the wind, alone, staring out at the restless water and sipping milky sugary tea from a chipped flask, planning what to do next.




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