Today my daughter set off to Mongolia. Okay so she's going with a group of volunteers to help some Mongolian youths set up their own youth group. It's not like she's alone on a train steaming through Russia prey to criminals and god knows what. But I'm a mother and it's my job to worry... so I am
This in turn has caused a flare up of my fibromyalgia and I'm in pain and exhausted... typical. I've managed to write a couple of pages of the project I'm working on... a pulp fiction book staring Altair Jones, an inter-galactic private investigator with questionable morals.
Altair first appeared in a short I wrote for a pulp fiction competition... still waiting to hear about that one. She's young and pretty and her only friend is her onboard computer Dan, he's got a personality chip and sometimes a chip on his shoulder! She's just as likely to use sex as she is a gun if it means she gets what she wants. I like her, maybe because she does stuff I no longer can... not shoot people obviously!
Anyway, she got in my head and I thought she deserved her own book. I started writing it with no idea how it ends or who-done-it even. At the moment it's called 'Unknown' because I haven't come up with a title yet. Set in a rehab clinic on a planet inhabited by a cult religion she needs to discover who is murdering the clients before she becomes one of the victims. I've made it a 1/4 of the way through.
Watch this space...