So, we’re already into March and all the madness that brings. For me, the madness started with a stag do (managed to squeeze a parkrun in there), and the last proof-read of Going Fourth. This took up most of my writing time, up until I started editing the issues I found in the last proof which were, thankfully, less than I’d anticipated, though still more than should be in there after Draft whatever-draft-I’m-up-to now.
Week 2
Week 2 of March for me was editing, editing, editing and getting the novel up on to sales portals, which involved a lot of additional formatting work as the format that I had formatted wasn’t the format I thought I’d formatted and I didn’t really realise this until I had to format the format to the correct format on the formatting tool provided. That makes sense, right?
I also spent the week performing a cover reveal countdown of Going Fourth, which you’ll be able to find somewhere on the website and, by now, you’ll be able to find on Amazon. Maybe I’ll post a link.
Either way, by the end of this week, I came away with a revealed cover for the novel and a product that I can sell online. I’d call that a win.
Week 3
What did I even do this week? My writer’s group have been discussing launching an anthology, so with the short-term launch of the book being sorted, I put some focus into generating ideas good enough to get into the anthology. I managed 1000 words by the end of the week, then at the weekend brought the Kenergy to my wife’s first ever half marathon!
I would like to say the t-shirts weren’t my idea, but that isn’t entirely true…
Week 4
Week 4 a.k.a. the week before the book launch. Insert the dog meme.
The week started off on a really good note, with some great news that I’ve been asked not to share yet (sign up to the mailing list (that I have still yet to work out how to run properly) to find out more). Some more writing of the anthology story, and thinking about how best to promote the book release.
If I’m honest, I probably could be more pro-active here. I’m hoping you (Yes you!) might be able to help me out. I wrote a little piece about the three key things you can do to help me – see earlier posts. And if you could do any/all of those, it’d help massively (I think – never done this before). Other than that, it’s been a case of posting it out wherever I can and begging people to share the news.
Hi everyone! As I’m sure you know by now, Going Fourth is available for purchase in kindle and paperback formats tomorrow!
If you’re wondering what you’re in store for, read on for an excerpt:
G. J. Dunn
Once upon a time in a Kingdom far, far… Wait. That’s not right. You can’t be upon time. Time is continuous. It’s not an ocean ridden on by some kind of metaphysical surfer. I was going to say “far, far away” too. That doesn’t give you much context, does it? A metre is far, far away if you happen to be an ant. Let me start again.
***
Once at a given point in the continuous stream that is time, three hundred miles, give or take, from where the final scene of this story will take place, there lived a man. That man’s name, quite unfortunately considering this is a fairy tale, was Brian.
As we join him, sitting under the shade of his favourite Jirat tree, you’ll take note that Brian is not heroic in any previously known sense of the word. His ears are too large, his muscles too small, and the less said about his receding hairline, the better. Brian’s biggest problem, however, is worse than all these things put together. After all, muscles can grow, ears can be surgically altered, and they’ve even invented this hair-follicle replacement procedure that can replace each individual hair on your head. Incredible stuff, really. But I’m getting sidetracked. Brian’s biggest problem isn’t so easily fixed as these. You see, Brian’s biggest problem—
“Hello?”
…
Brian’s biggest problem—
“Is someone there?” asked Brian, searching the clearing for signs of life.
Wait, can you hear me?
Brian hesitated. The knot of fear–a constant presence in the base of his stomach–tightened. “Yes?”
That’s not right. You shouldn’t be able to hear me.
“Oh,” Brian said, snapping his gaze back to the ground. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to.” Brian hesitated again, scratching the back of his head. “Is that my problem, then?”
What?
“My problem? That you were talking about? Is it that I can hear you?”
No, Brian. Your problem is that you’re cowardly.
“That’s it?”
What do you mean ‘that’s it’?
Brian scratched his head. “It’s just… I thought hearing voices was quite a big problem.”
Yes… Well… Maybe. But hearing voices is just a problem, isn’t it? Being cowardly is a character flaw. Much more problematic.
“Why’s that?”
Because a problem can be solved. A character flaw stays with you forever.
Brian thought about that for a second. It was true he’d never been a fan of fighting. The idea of violence made his insides curl in on themselves. The fear of pain, of embarrassment, was a constant companion, mashed with fear into that ever-present knot. “Oh,” he said.
Look, this isn’t exactly how this was supposed to go.
“It’s not?”
No.
“Right. Sorry. It’s just I’ve never heard voices before. It’s all a bit new.”
…
“Am I going mad?” Brian asked. That was the last thing he needed. He was already an outcast and hearing voices would only push the boat of popularity further from the shore.
Depends on your definition.
“Right,” Brian said. “That’s not very helpful, is it?”
It wasn’t meant to be.
“Oh.”
Brian glanced around the clearing as he waited for a response.
“So, you’re not one of those helpful voices then?” he asked when none came.
What do you mean ‘one of those helpful voices’? What helpful voices have you ever heard of?
“Well, you know, one of those voices that helps me find treasure or love or… something.”
… No.
“Oh,” Brain replied. He grabbed a stick from underneath the tree and used it to prod at the ground. “So, are you one of those voices that’s going to tell me to kill my friends, then?”
It’s a possibility if you keep blathering on.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Look, can you just go back to work or something? I need to think.
“The voice in my head needs think?”
Yes. Can you just… you know… pretend I’m not here or something?
Brian sighed. It was going to be hard to pretend the voice wasn’t there when he could hear every descriptive word echo through his skull. There was no way he’d be able to explain this to his co-workers. He’d have to hide it. Make sure they didn’t find out.
Brian sighed again, pushed himself up, and headed off back towards the village. The heat of the day hit as soon as he stepped out from under the Jirat and onto the sunlit path. A humid press had been growing for days and showed no sign of breaking soon. Brian had found it brilliant at first. He spent most lunches in Efteling Park watching the wildlife, delighting in the different colours of the flowers. With the sun shining, everything was on show for longer. Now, after four days, the heat was too much. Before he’d gone ten paces, he felt the sweat beading on his brow, his shirt sticking to his skin.
He reached the wrought-iron gate at the edge of the park and heaved it open, stepping on to the road back into Lefton, carrying on past the dreary, crumbling buildings that were almost falling apart, despite being newer than those further in. It hadn’t always been this way. Lefton had changed in the last ten years. When Brian had grown up, it had been small. Everyone had known everyone. Then the Fairy Godfather had arrived from the city and built a mansion on the hill, overlooking the huge wish factory he’d built in the valley. It was that factory that dominated the Lefton skyline these days–big, square and grey. Devoid of any character whatsoever.
The Fairy Godfather had built the surrounding houses in the same way: quick, cheap, and uniform. He needed staff for his factory and they needed somewhere to live, so the Fairy Godfather provided. Brian shook his head. He couldn’t stand the sight of those houses.
He turned off down an alley–a shortcut that connected that new part of the village to the old. The colour changed as he walked, the grey brick of the new houses being replaced by the red-yellow mix he remembered. The same alleys he’d used all his life. Years ago, it had been to avoid the bullies when he travelled from his house to Kongola’s. There had always been someone that had wanted to pick on him. Some of them still did. It hadn’t helped that Brian was such a coward, of course.
“Hey!” Brian exclaimed, drawing the attention of a rather rotund man standing in an alcove to the side.
“What?” Brian asked, whirling around to try and find them.
“Are you okay there, Brian?” the man asked, stepping forward.
For a moment, Brian’s heart stopped beating.
Oh, for Sod’s sake, you really live your life like this?
As he stepped into the light, Brian realised the man was, in fact, Kongola, his best friend.
“Brian?” Kongola asked again.
“I…” Brian hesitated. He couldn’t let Kongola know about the voice, could he? It was too insane. “I’m fine.”
Kongola looked him up and down skeptically. “Well, if you say so.” Kongola gave another moment for Brian to respond, but Brian didn’t take him up on it, so he continued. “Are you heading back?”
Brian nodded. “Yeah, sure.”
Kongola nodded, and they continued in silence, joining up with the main street. It was a wide, open street with space enough for eight men to walk side by side. The factory lay at one end; the road stretching through the entire village. There’d been a play park there before the Fairy Godfather had demolished it to build his factory. Brian remembered going there with his Mother and Kongola.
Their co-workers filled the street, which made sense–there weren’t many other employers in Lefton and the Factory’s lunch hour was ending. Brian navigated his way through the throng in his usual manner, hiding behind Kongola, and in a few minutes, Kongola led them through the door into the staff entrance.
The staff entrance of the Fairy Godfather’s Wish Factory was as much like the outside as it was possible to be. As all the wishes arrived by magic, they didn’t need to impress any of the clientele. At least that’s what management said. The stone walls were bare aside from one small notice board, crammed into the corner next to the security desk. In the other corner, a potted plant was doing its best impression of the ageing security guard’s drooping nose.
“Hullo, Eskasa,” Kongola drawled, giving a small wave to the man behind the security desk.
Eskasa lifted a hand and tilted a stylish hat that had the word ‘Security’ emblazoned in big letters, just in case viewers weren’t tipped off by the uniform. Brian had once wondered why the Fairy Godfather would entrust the security of his entire wish factory to an octogenarian. That was until Kongola gave him a prompt reminder that anyone who crossed the Fairy Godfather soon found a wish with their name on it, whether there was security or not. Eskasa had made sense after that.
“Afternoon, Mr. Kongola,” Eskasa said, turning to Brian. “Brian.”
Why don’t I get a Mister? thought Brian.
You know why, Brian.
“Heading through?” Eskasa asked, prodding a thumb towards the security gate.
“No rest for the wicked,” Kongola replied. “Or me,” he added with a wink.
Eskasa chuckled, and Brian felt a pang of jealousy. Kongola had always had an effortless charm. By comparison, Brian’s charm was climbing a mountain with one leg, carrying a particularly annoying child with a penchant for fish-hooking noses.
“Hey!” Brian exclaimed, idiotically forgetting, once again, that no one else could hear the voice.
“Say again?” Eskasa asked, rubbing a finger in his ear.
Kongola gave Brian a look, grabbed him by the shoulder, and led him through the security gate.
“It’s nothing, Eskasa,” he said in that same calming tone. “Brian’s just a little on edge.”
“Ah, erhm, yes,” he said. Eventually.
Eskasa shook his head.
“Of course he is,” Brian heard him mutter as they headed through into the corridor leading to the shop floor.
Go back and let him have it, Brian!
“I, uh,” Brian stammered.
Kongola turned back to him. “Just forget it, Brian. We’ve got work to do.”
Brian nodded, avoiding eye contact. Maybe he should tell Kongola that it was the voice causing problems, not Eskasa. He was used to the old security guard’s mutterings. But this voice… If anyone could understand, it would be Kongola.
Or maybe you could do something a bit more interesting instead?
No. He should ignore the voice. His mother always said that if he responded, it gave the bully what they wanted. And that’s what this voice was. A bully.
I think I’m just telling you a few home truths, to be honest. You should listen. You might learn something.
Brian ignored the voice extra hard as they entered the shop floor. It was here that the Fairy Godfather answered wishes through the twin powers of magic and employing several hundred people. He used the wishes to earn favours from the wish-makers. And the favours made him money. Brian had once considered trying the same thing, but then he wasn’t magic, so he doubted it would work.
The shop floor was gigantic, taking up half the factory. As always, the size struck Brian–made to seem all the bigger by the high ceiling constructed entirely of glass. It was great if it was sunny, but dreary when it rained. Much like the outside, Brian supposed.
Wow, even your thoughts are boring.
This was where the Wish Sorters worked–the people who sorted the wishes from their arrival, by the sackload, and sent them to the relevant department to be dealt with. For example, if a wish came in from a child, it would go to Family Planning. Family Planning would reply to the child’s parents and ask if they wanted their child’s wish granted. If that answer was yes, the Fairy Godfather would ask for a favour in return and… well… it was best to say no.
Brian and Kongola walked down the first of several rows of benches. Wish Sorters sat one per bench, a huge chute on their left continually dropping fresh wishes into in-buckets (they had a habit of falling out of in-trays). Several green pneumatic tubes hung above their heads, there for them to sort wishes into, each labelled with the name of a department. The tubes at each station shot up into a sprawling mass of green someone had nicknamed the Tangle, where tubes twisted around each other again and again before flitting off to one of the four walls, where the department sorted the wish further, by size and importance. Brian had applied for jobs in a few of those departments through the years, but he’d never heard back.
As they moved through the factory, Kongola shared easy back and forth with some of the other Sorters. Each person greeted Kongola by name before glancing to where Brian stood–hiding in Kongola’s shadow and giving a begrudging nod or a tight smile. Brian had spent a long time, to no avail, trying to work out how Kongola was so likeable.
Have you tried using words, Brian? A lot of people like them.
They reached their seats, on the end of the furthest bench, and Brian sat himself on the very last seat, Kongola taking the seat next to him. They’d been swapped after Brian had tried to point out that Isha, the woman on the other side, was doing her job wrong. She kept sending wishes for children, instead of wishes from children, to Family Planning. In Brian’s opinion, it wouldn’t have happened if the departments weren’t so ominously named, but as soon as he’d mentioned children she’d complained to Human Resources about the ‘strange balding man’ and that had been that. He’d given up trying to talk to Isha after that. She and Kongola seemed to get along, though.
Brian set about his work, pulling wishes from the in-bucket, giving them a read and deciding which tube he should use to send them into The Tangle.
This is your job?
Brian ignored the voice, focusing instead on Harisa’s wish of becoming irresistible to women. If he was Isha, he’d send it to Family Planning. But Brian liked to think he was, at least, good at his job. Irresistible to women was Magical Influence. Unsurprisingly, one of the bigger departments. He rolled the paper into a cylinder, reached forward, and pushed it into the tube.
Phwoosh.
Brian loved that sound.
You just sit and do this for what? Eight hours a day?
The next wish was from Seqira, who wished that the girl Essa in his village would notice him. That was a simple one. He popped it in for Emotional Interference.
Phwoosh.
Haven’t you ever tried mixing them up? Just for fun?
“No,” Brian mumbled, glancing at Kongola, who was busy talking to Isha.
So, you just sit and read wishes all day?
“Yes.” This voice was getting more and more irritating.
“Did you say something, Brian?” Kongola asked at his side.
“I’m fine,” Brian replied.
Isn’t there any way you can make this more fun? Add more drama?
Brian held his tongue and grabbed another wish. He read down the page. Then he read down the page again.
Well, that doesn’t make sense, does it?
“How would you know?” Brian hissed under his breath.
I can see everything you can see, Brian.
“How’s that possible?” Brian asked.
Not telling.
Brian seethed. This damn voice was going to give him an ulcer.
“Are you alright there, Brian?” Kongola asked, moving over.
Brian had to think on his feet. Not literally, because he was sitting down, but he had to think very quickly while sitting down.
“It’s this wish,” he said, handing the sheet to Kongola. “It doesn’t make sense.”
Why would he know better than you, Brian? I thought you were good at your job?
“Ah,” said Kongola after a few seconds.
“What?” Brian asked. Had he done something wrong?
“This part here,” Kongola showed the sheet to Brian and pointed at one sentence.
“I wish him all the best?”
“That’s this week’s code-wish,” Kongola told him.
What’s a code-wish? Is it more exciting? It sounds more exciting!
“Shut up,” Brian snapped.
Kongola brow furrowed. “It’s true, Brian. Check your decoder.”
“Sorry,” Brian said hurriedly. “I believe you. I’ve just never got a code-wish before.”
“First time for everything,” Kongola said, smiling and pushing the wish into Brian’s quivering hand.
“Ha,” Brian said.
What are you going to do, Brian? I think you should steal it.
“What?” Brian said out loud before he could help himself.
Kongola glanced over and frowned, but said nothing.
It would be dramatic, wouldn’t it? And your life could use some drama. I’ve been here less than an hour and I’m already bored senseless.
Brian ignored the voice, glancing at the tube furthest to the right. The one labelled Fairy Godfather. All code-wishes went straight to him.
Oh! That’s some intrigue right there! What does he do with them?
“I don’t know,” Brian replied.
Don’t you want to find out?
Brian shivered at the thought. “No.”
Why not? It could be an adventure.
“I don’t want an adventure.”
Who doesn’t want an adventure?
“Someone who likes their life?”
Your life with one friend and a dead-end job where all you do is push wishes into tubes?
“Shut up,” Brian said, hand wavering half way toward the Fairy Godfather tube.
Didn’t you ever dream of something more?
“Shut up,” Brian said again, reaching his hand further towards the tube.
You’re living your life granting other people’s wishes, Brian. Don’t you have any wishes of your own?
“I said shut up!” Brian shouted, slamming the note into the Fairy Godfather tube.
Phwoosh.
The sound seemed louder than usual.
Brian turned around.
Well, that went well.
The entire factory was looking. Had he shouted that loudly? Why were they all staring like he was crazy? Probably the shouting. Definitely the shouting.
“Brian?” Kongola asked. “Are you okay?”
Storm out. Tell them you’re off on an adventure.
“I’m… not feeling so well,” Brian offered.
Lame.
Kongola looked him up and down. “Maybe you should go home and rest. I’ll see you tonight?”
Tonight. Of course. Water and wine.
“Tonight,” Brian agreed.
He turned and walked at a moderate speed away from his station, feeling eyes on the back of his skull. The moderate speed sped up. The sped up speed ran.
And that’s your lot. Unless, of course, you buy your very own copy! See above for a purchase link.
