New Year

It was four o'clock, and the darkness swam. The impatient wind rattled the door in its frame and roused from fitful sleep the ghosts that hid beneath the bed, who leaked out into the inky blackness and hung like silvery cobwebs over the bed, chattering amongst themselves in voices as dry and brittle as bone.

Such was the scene at Ridgehead Towers, and that is the reason that we find ourselves as red-eyed as a laboratory mouse this morning.

Over Christmas (Ecksmas), though, Ecks did manage to break the 30,000 word barrier on his second novel, and, with a pitiful glint of hope in his eye, sent off more samples of his completed first novel to various publishing agents.

The blog that was visited out of curiosity but captured his attention sufficiently to compel him to return was Incarnating the Countess.