Sunday, 30 October 2016

No longer cramming

When I started writing Wild Children, it was supposed to be a stand-alone project and, therefore, I was determined to tie any loose ends without exceeding the 100K or, at most, 120K words mark. It made things a bit rushed and strained in various points, but luckily a friend - who is worth her weight in gold as a patient first reader - pointed out that I'm fighting a losing battle here and that I'm never going to be able to wrap this up in one book in a satisfactory way.

This gave me fresh inspiration and I began working on The Hourglass, sequel to Wild Children, which gives more extensive insight into the lives of the corrupt ruling elite and also takes the readers across the border to Mexico, where sinister plans are brewing underneath the noses of innocent, unsuspecting people. The narrative is told mostly from the perspective of Priscilla Dahl, the president's daughter, a fleeting glimpse of whom we get in Wild Children.

I'm also planning a third book in the series, called Freeborn, which will focus on the next generation of outcasts and their refusal to be controlled by the government, whom they suspect (not without reason) of double-dealings and lack of respect for human rights.

So is this it? Will Wild Children end up as a trilogy, or will there be more? I confess that right now I can't see anything beyond Freeborn, which will probably wrap up the series, but one never knows. In the meantime, I'm enjoying my work on The Hourglass, which allows me to dig deeper into the family life of Alexander Dahl, the arch-villain who discovers, to his annoyance, that human beings sometimes refuse to play the parts allotted to them.


"Dahl thought that some quiet work in his home office might be more profitable than going on at the White Tower through half the night; Silver Oaks was a lot more private and better sheltered from reporters, and he was sick of reporters. He ordered the driver to take him home and tried to peruse a couple of documents as the car moved smoothly and almost soundlessly along the newly-repaired road, but it was no good. His thoughts were with Priscilla, and anger was bubbling up below the surface, hot and bitter and hard to suppress. I don’t understand. How could she do this to me? And precisely at this moment? If she had to run off because of some stupid teenage crisis, couldn’t she have waited until after the elections?"

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