Elena stirred, alerted by the long, long silence to the fact that business was exceptionally slow. There was no great need to worry: their bookshop was ticking over in the black – just about – and had been for years now, given a fortunate location and loyal clientele. It was just – wet Wednesdays, and early closing day, and a long way off payday for a lot of folks. The thing was, a lack of customers gave her the urge to mess with her brother, even if only for her own personal amusement.
She looked over at him, hunched beside the elderly till, a vintage Guy de Maupassant spread out before him, and a mug cooling by his side.
Ehhh, feels like time to re-make and re-write some of my old fanfic WiPs, rebuild them into original fic. Not that I haven’t already been doing a bit of that, under aliases Sarah Tender and Wanda Withers. But for my two old faves this seems like the right ID. So very shortly indeed, expect a mangling re-working of a tale loosely based on ‘Notting Hill’. With new added werewolves!
*Kipling, darling. Love a bit of Kipling. ‘If’ used to reliably make me cry, before I got so hardened and contemptuous.
Hurting Distance by Sophie Hannah
My rating: 1 of 5 stars
Vile. I probably mis-quote John Wyndham describing a series of nasty sadistic thrillers in Random Quest, ‘one has a choice of subject material’. And I’m judging Sophie Hannah for hers. Nasty.
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